Gleam and Glow
by Feline Alchemist
Summary: Thorin is a thief on the run who stumbles into a lonely tower, hidden in the forest. Bilbo is a sheltered young recluse, dreaming out his high window and dreaming of what life could be. Tangled AU
1. Chapter 1: Introduction

So I caved and did the thing! I've only written this short intro chapter, to sort of feel the waters and tease the story a little bit, and I'll publish the rest after it's all written so no one is left waiting! So expect a wait between now and the rest, but it's coming!

That being said, I hope you enjoy the intro! (some of it is word for word from the movie, it's intentional, the rest won't be written that way don't worry!)

Disclaimer: I do NOT own Tangled or it's storyline or characters, nor do any of Tolkien's characters belong to me!

This is the story of how I died.

Don't worry, this is actually a very fun story and the truth is, it isn't even mine.

This is the story of a boy named Bilbo and it starts with the sun.

Now, once upon a time, a single drop of sunlight fell from the heavens and from this small drop of sun, grew a magic, golden flower. It's petals sparkled like sunlight on the ocean, it always smelled of sweet summer afternoons, and, most importantly, it had the ability to heal the sick and the injured.

Well, centuries passed, and a hop skip and a boat ride away, there grew a kingdom. The kingdom was ruled by a beloved King and Queen. He, with his kind eyes and knack for peaceful resolutions among his people, and She, with her riot of bouncing brown curls framing soft blue eyes, and her economic know-how, combining to ensure prosperity for all within their kingdom.

_The royal couple stood atop a balcony in the palace, hands clasped together as the air rang with shouts of praise. The citadel below them was packed full to bursting with bright, happy faces, young and old and everywhere in between, waving the House Colors and chanting songs of loyalty. Death and disease rates were low, trade was bustling, and even the weather seemed to reflect the peace and prosperity of the kingdom of the Shirefolk, warm sunshine without a cloud in the sky. _

It worked, fantastically well, and all were happy and thriving. At least, to the best of their knowledge.

But that part of the story comes later. Back to the backstory. The Queen, well, she was about to have a baby.

But then she got sick. _Really_ sick.

She was running out of time, and that's when people usually start to look for a miracle. Or in this case, a magic golden flower.

The guards of the palace searched high and low for a cure to help heal the queen, rapidly approaching the date of the birth of her child. The flower was not far from the palace but it was hidden from plain sight, its location a secret held only by a man who went by the name of Smaug. See, Smaug was greedy, selfish, and he'd happened upon the flower hundreds of years ago, discovering that he could harness its incredible power to lengthen his life. All he had to do was sing a special song...

_A hooded figure crouched low and crawled through the underbrush, whipping their head around in search of signs they'd been followed. Satisfied that they were alone, they slowly draped back their hood and removed the secret cover hiding the flower. With gnarled and spotted fingers he grasps a petal lightly, its incandescent sparkle reflecting in harsh, piercing amber eyes. The wrinkles which drooped and sagged about his face pulled taught and his skin cleared of blemishes as he sang in a low, rumbling growl._

_Flower, gleam and glow_

_Let your power shine_

_Make the clock reverse_

_Bring back what once was mine_

_What once was mine..._

All right, you get the gist. He sings to it, he turns young, creepy, right?

But Smaug wasn't careful, and the palace guards discovered the flower, most of them weeping in relief.

The magic of the golden flower healed the queen, and a healthy baby boy, a prince was born, with beautiful golden hair.

_The baby rolled around his beautifully gilded crib, his parents smiling down at him, finally letting out a breath it seemed they'd been holding since the Queen fell ill and the sun seemed to fade from the sky above the kingdom, it too abandoning hope. He had a gorgeous mop of golden hair that sparkled like sunlight on the ocean, and eyes like a well that you can't see the bottom of. He squirmed and squealed up at his parents, the picture of sunshine when all it's done is rain for months. A breath of sweet summer air, this child was. A new hope for all the Shire. _

I'll give you a hint: that's Bilbo.

To celebrate his birth, the King and Queen launched a dazzling volley of fireworks into the sky, a special concoction created by their trusted adviser and long-time family friend Gandalf Greyhame, whizzing and popping and sparking intricate patterns across the stars. And for that one moment, everything was perfect.

And then that moment ended.

_One night, with the moonlight draped across the palace walls like a pale sheet, the balcony door to young Bilbo's bedroom swung open slowly and silently. Hooded and cloaked as ever, Smaug crept up over the balcony and into the quiet of the room, coming to stoop over the baby's crib. Silver hair shone in the moonlight, his age again catching up to him, and he needed another dose of the flower's magic - and soon. _

_Taking a lock of Bilbo's glimmering golden hair (now grown quite long in his short time on this earth) between his fingers and the blade of a knife, he sang the special rhyme low and hushed in the quiet night. _

_Flower, gleam and glow_

_Let your power shine_

_Make the clock re-_

_Smaug gasped, a pang of fear piercing the room as golden color drained from the severed lock, like water down a drain, turning it a mousy brown. _

_A deep breath of calm, calculated thought, and his decision was made. _

Smaug broke into the castle, stole the child and just like that–

Gone.

The kingdom searched and searched but they could not find the prince. For deep within the forest, in a hidden tower, Smaug raised the child as his own.

_Heal what has been hurt_

_Change the fate's design_

_Save what has been lost_

_Bring back what once was mine_

_What once was mine..._

Smaug had found his new magic flower, but this time he was determined to keep it hidden.

_"Why can't I go outside?" Bilbo, just a little boy, no older than 6, peered over the windowsill. His little eyes were much too sad for his age. _

_"The outside world is a dangerous place, filled with horrible, selfish people. You must stay here, where you're safe. Do you understand, flower?" Smaug curled a long-fingered hand into the boy's long, honey-gold hair -almost to his knees, it grew _so_ fast- and tucked a short brown lock behind his ear. It never grew back, where it had been cut, and it would always be that soft brown color, standing out amongst the waterfall of gold. _

_"Yes __daddy__."_

But the walls of that tower could not hide everything.

Each year, on his birthday, the King and Queen released thousands of fireworks into the sky, in hope that one day, their lost prince would return.

Please do let me know what you think! :)


	2. Chapter 2: The Sad-Eyed Boy & The Thief

"Aha!"

Bilbo pulled back the curtains hanging over the balcony window triumphantly, revealing a small-ish, tea-brown rabbit with rather large ears flopped to either side of its' head. It gazed up at the boy with half-lidded eyes, bored out of it's little rabbit brain.

"Found you! I win again!" He stooped down to the rabbit's level, pouting theatrically. "Oh come on CeCe don't look at me like that!"

The rabbit merely blinked.

"Best thirteen out of twenty-five?" CeCe rolled her small eyes and Bilbo scooped her up in his arms, heaving a sigh.

"Fine then, what do _you _want to do?" CeCe wriggled in his arms in the direction of- well, _out the window. _

Now it was Bilbo's turn to roll his eyes. "Yeah, I don't think so. I like it just fine in here and so do you, thank you. To think, I've lived this long only to be sassed by a rabbit. Who would've guessed that one?" Bilbo turned away from the window, gently dropping CeCe to her furry feet and stepping over a thick length of his -incredibly, _impossibly_ long- golden hair that lay draped across the floor.

"Chess?" she shook her head.

"We could bake some cupcakes? I've got some blueberries left!" another little shake.

Bilbo huffed, then drew in an exaggerated breath. "We can read, play darts, sew a quilt, bake a cake, sweep the floor, play guitar, knit another scarf, do a puzzle, make a paper mache model of the tower _again, _paint some more-" an aggravated squeak cut his rant short -thank _goodness -_ and he smirked down at her.

"Oh alright, enough teasing." He bent and ruffled the wild tuft of fur between her ears. "Let's paint, shall we? I know just what to add..." he trailed off, turning to gaze out the window again. "My special lights..."

CeCe brushed up against his foot and he snapped out of his reverie with a smile. Throwing a length of neatly brushed hair up and over a hanging beam, he hoisted himself and CeCe up to paint over one of the last free spaces on the walls, a modest patch of canvas behind a low-hanging drapery. He tried as best as he could to capture the whirling, zooming lights he saw every year, every year on his _birthday, _and he sat back on his haunches to survey his work, satisfied.

"This is a _very _important day CeCe!" he dabbed the last touches onto a swirling burst of orange against the dark blue of the night sky. "I'm gonna do it. I'm finally gonna ask him!" CeCe twitched her nose up at him and he grinned, gasping and dashing the curtains closed around the painting at the sudden shout from out the window and below.

"Bilbo! Let down your hair!"

"Coming father!" He shot a quick, hopeful look at CeCe where she hid behind the drapery. He gave her a small thumbs up, and at her excited nod he ran to the window. Slinging a loop over a hook hanging in the ceiling Bilbo gathered his tresses into his arms and tossed them out the window, where they glittered in the afternooon light like fellow sunbeams as they fluttered to the floor around his father's feet.

In a practiced motion the man took up a loop and stepped into it, tugging once to signal Bilbo to hoist him up and into their home-on-high.

Smaug lithely stepped over the threshold and into the room, dropping his basket laden with apples on a side table and giving a light pat on the head in response to Bilbo's panted "Welcome home, father!"

"Bilbo darling, however do you manage to do that every day, without fail? It looks absolutely exhausting." The words sounded kind but his expression remained the same, eyes half closed and a drone to his voice as if he were inspecting his cuticles constantly. He unbuttoned his traveling cloak, a large, heavy black thing with blood red lining, and dumped the heap into Bilbo's waiting arms.

"Oh, it's nothing, heh.." He shared a nervous look with the rabbit behind the drapery and swallowed, steeling himself. "Father, as you know, tomorrow is a very important day-"

"Hang that up dear it'll wrinkle!" Smaug tutted at him and set about unpacking the apples into a large bowl on the table.

Bilbo wobbled under the bulk and hung it up quickly on a peg near the window, rushing back over to stand before his father, who ran a hand through his short, jet-black waves as he stepped around him. "Anyway father I wanted to ask you something-"

"I'm feeling a little run-down, pet. Will you sing for me dear?" a thin, white hand held to his brow.

"Oh- Of course father!" Bilbo pulled a large wooden chair over from the wall to rest before the fireplace, and Smaug sat down on its' shimmering red upholstery. Bilbo took his usual seat on the floor in front of his father, his wavy locks gathered up behind him where Smaug would take up the brush and comb slowly through it while he sang.

Today though, today Bilbo was nervous, and he _had _to ask him. It was now or never. He took a breath and sang the words quickly, his hair starting to glow, warm and bright, almost immediately.

"Ach- wait!" Smaug scrambled to brush through it as quickly as he could, running his hands through it to absorb its power as it surged through the follicles. "Bilbo! Slow down!" Before he knew it Bilbo had finished the song and stood up, whirling to face him, a long strand of hair being tugged and worried between his hands.

"So father, I was saying that tomorrow is really big day, and you didn't really respond- you may have forgotten, which is okay! It's just, tomorrow is my birthday! There it is, haha, and well, father, I-"

"What? No, couldn't be. I recall you had one of those last year." One black eyebrow rose up and his lips quirked in a smirk.

Bilbo forced out a short laugh and twiddled the hair between his fingers some more. "That's the thing about birthdays, heh, they're kind of an annual thing.." Smaug merely blinked once slowly, seemingly ready to listen now, so he pressed on. "Father, I'm turning eighteen and, what I want for, what I've wanted more than anything, I want-"

"Bilbo for goodness sake stop mumbling! You _know _how I feel about the mumbling, it's absolutely infuriating." He rubbed at his temples. "Oh but I know you don't do it on purpose, darling, I don't blame you. I do love so, my flower." He gave Bilbo a sickly sweet grin and ruffled his hair.

Bilbo cleared his throat and looked Smaug dead in the eyes. "I want to see the magic lights."

Smaug's smile fell off his face. "The what?"

Bilbo looked back at CeCe, snuffling her nose at him encouragingly, and she scampered further into hiding as he whipped a length of hair up to part the drapery from his latest painting. Bilbo had taken great care to capture the erratic, swirling-swooping motion of the lights, and how they exploded into colors and shapes that had never been seen before. Off to the side he had painted a small figure sitting in a treetop, gazing up at the spectacle with longing, a very familiar cascade of gold running down its back.

"I was hoping you'd take me to see the magic lights."

Smaug narrowed his eyes before- "Ah, you mean the stars. Did you see a _shooting _star, perhaps?"

"No, see, the thing is- I've charted the stars," he sidestepped to the bookshelf nearby and pulled out a bound journal, opening it up to pages upon pages of hand-drawn star charts, showing it to his father, "and they're _always _constant. These though, the lights- they appear every year on my birthday and _only _on my birthday." His eyes were wide and hopeful, pleading that his father would feel his passion. He set the book down and gripped that same lock of hair tightly in his hands.

He continued on in a near whisper. "And.. I can't help but feel like they're _meant _for me."

"Are you asking me what I think you're asking me?" His voice was low, somewhere between you'd-better-say-no and are-you-sure-you-want-to-go-there?

But Bilbo stood his ground, pushing his chin out, sending wavy tresses tumbling away from his determined face. "I have to see them, Father. In person, not just from my window. I _need _to know what they are."

Smaug looked concerned for a moment, before standing from his chair and striding forward to cup Bilbo's face gently between his hands. "You want to go outside? Bilbo, look at you, as fragile as the newborn daisies in your garden!"

Somewhere behind the drapery CeCe glanced at the small but well-tended strip of soil and sproutlings nestled in the windowsill and then back towards the scene unfolding with an angry pinch to her nose.

"The world is harsh and unforgiving out there, my flower." He stroked his golden head lovingly. "You know why we stay up in this tower, don't you?"

"I know, but.."

"To keep you safe." He stepped back and folded his hands -quite finally- behind his back. "Father knows best, dear, trust me!"

Bilbo sighed, eyes downcast.

"Oh, come now, don't look so glum! You'll give yourself wrinkles darling, and they will not do you _any _favors." He turned away with disdain for the very thought of wrinkling and stood by the window, gazing out unfocused as he continued.

"Really you should be thanking your lucky "magic" stars -and _me, _most importantly- that I've kept you up here, away from the nightmares out there."

"N-Nightmares?"

Smaug spun on his heel, an exaggerated look of horror on his face. "Oh yes. It's a terrifying, brutal, cut-throat world out there Bilbo. Ruffians, _cannibals, _snakes, the plague!" Smaug gripped his chest in terror.

Bilbo gasped, grasping at his own. "No!"

"Yes! Large bugs, quicksand, men with sharp teeth and sharper swords Bilbo oh enough, you'll put your dear old dad in his grave!" He swooned back into his plush red chair.

Bilbo was looking at him with wet eyes from under brows bunched up with worry, his hands balled up close to his face. "Father?" he peeped. So much talk of life-threatening danger and crushed life-long dreams was turning his stomach.

Smaug met his eyes and he sighed. "Look at you, Bilbo. Like a mouse shaking in his boots. On your own, you couldn't possibly hope to survive out there!" Bilbo stood up a little straighter under the scrutiny. "You're very particular about things, you know that, and let's not even mention your height. Or your weight, for that matter."

Bilbo looked down at his round middle and heard CeCe squeak indignantly somewhere behind him, and he coughed to cover it. "Father, please... If you went with me, maybe-"

"Bilbo," He cut him off, voice like a guillotine. "Don't ever ask to leave this tower again." His face was kind enough but his eyes were not at all.

Clenching his fists at his sides Bilbo let out a shaky breath, casting his eyes to the floor again. "Yes father."

Smaug's face softened and he smiled sadly, opening his arms and wrapping them around Bilbo as he stepped into them. "I love you very much, flower."

Bilbo hugged tighter. "I love you more."

"And I love you most." With a soft peck to the top of his head Smaug stood, fetching his cloak once more and throwing it on in a smooth arc of dark fabric. Bilbo moved by muscle memory, swinging a loop of hair over the hook in the ceiling to let his father descend, off to collect things for dinner that night.

As he was lowered smoothly down Smaug called up to the sad-eyed golden boy with a cheer in his voice as if he hadn't just taken Bilbo's heart out of his chest and stomped on it.

"I'll see you in a bit, my flower!"

"I'll be here," he called weakly, scooping CeCe up into his arms and holding her close to his chest. "forever..."

He slumped against the windowsill, eyes focusing on nothing, his hair flowing slowly and sadly in the warm autumn breeze.

_Careful.. caaaarefuuuuul...QUIETLY! _

Down through a skylight in the palace's main chamber roof a tall, broad-shouldered and decidedly _focused _man lowered himself on a thick rope, secured around his waist and somewhere on the roof above.

Sweat rolled down his face from his brow into his beard, black as ink and neatly short and trimmed. His muscles were taught with strain, and he gritted his teeth in silence at the immense effort. _This would be best done alone, _he'd thought. _Too big a risk to involve others. _Turns out it's a _little_ difficult lowering -yourself- down a thirty foot drop to steal the crown jewels. Well, _jewel, _really, if you wanted to be extra technical-

He jerked in the air, the force sending his whole body spinning slowly, hanging suspended as he was - like a spider on a lone thread of web in a summer breeze. A drop of sweat had slipped off his nose while he brooded -at a most inopportune time, he's well aware- and nearly plummeted straight in the path of the helmet of one of the many -too many- guards below him.

Luckily he caught it on a thrust of his foot, just in time.

_Nice one Thorin. What was it you called yourself when you decided to come do this ALONE? Ah yes, a 'professional'. _

Slowly, much more carefully, he lowered himself the rest of the way down, delicately plucking up the large, shimmering white jewel where it sat on a solitary plush velvet pillow, atop a lone elaborate pedestal.

It was as big as his fist, cut with dozens of facets which caught the tiniest pinpricks of light and turned them into dazzling arcs of every color imaginable. He gazed into it's magnificence, ensnared, but only for a moment. He made to slip it safely into a satchel hanging from his shoulder when one of the guards beneath him hacked a painful sounding cough.

Thorin knew that cough, knew it all too well, and it sent an awful chill down his spine. Not to mention he nearly dropped the jewel at the shock of it, loud and rasping in the silence.

"Croup fever..." he muttered, his face going sad and wistful for a moment, unbidden.

The guard coughed again and answered. "Yes, it's awful."

The guard froze.

Thorin froze.

_Professional my hairy arse!_

The guard turned around and startled back. "Hey! Stop! Thief! Thief in the palace!"

Thorin didn't stick around to watch the other guards turn and shout, chucking the stone into his satchel and hauling himself up the rope as fast as his arms would pull him. "Oh just wait until my sister hears about this," he growled, rolling onto the roof and discarding the rope, tearing across the tiles like a rabbit with a hungry fox at its heels.

_That's _exactly_ what's happening right now, good going Mister Professional, _but he'd have time to scold himself when he was safely out of reach.

So the entirety of the palace's protection force was hot on his trail. A minor setback. What mattered was he succeeded! He had the jewel, the _Arkenstone, _on his person! He ducked around a corner and away from the shouts, and he let out a triumphant one of his own.

_This is going to change everything._

His elation quickly turned into irritation, however, at the sight of his own face staring angrily back at him from a wanted poster nailed to a nearby tree. He tore it off and stared at it sorrowfully.

"Oh no. No no no no _no!" _he gripped the paper tight in his hands.

"They just _cannot _get my beard right!" The shouts of the guards picked up again behind him and he bolted, stuffing the poster -depicting his legendary glare fairly accurately EXCEPT for the ridiculous twiddly moustache and awful goatee- into the satchel and disappearing into the waiting forest.

Over hills and under many twisting trees he ran, his low ponytail of dark hair thumping a rhythm on his back. He grinned to himself as the rapidly dying shouts of the guards turned from "Give it up, Oakenshield!" and "No where to run!" to "where is he?!" and "what will we tell the Queen?!"

Leaping over a fallen branch Thorin turned his head back and gave a cheeky salute towards the palace. "Pleasure doing business with you, as always!"

Turned as he was he didn't see the forest floor drop off into a steep cliff until said forest floor was no longer beneath his pounding feet, and he yelped as he was sent tumbling ungracefully down a mossy slope.

He fell like a sack of potatoes, grunting with each _whump _of his body against the ground. Finally -_finally- _the slope evened out to flat ground and he rolled straight through a large, hollow boulder, its entrance shrouded by a curtain of soft green vines. He came to rest flat on his back and just stared skywards, breathing raggedly.

Sluggishly he pat the satchel down, and sighed in relief at the lump of the jewel within. With no small effort he sat up, groaning. He'd ended up in a secluded glen, high rocks all around sheltering a tall, odd-looking tower standing in the grass before him. It looked like a cottage on top of a castle battlement, but it could've looked like a bathtub full of spiders for all Thorin cared. As long as it was empty, he could hide out for a day or two until the heat died down. Don't look a gift horse in the mouth, or something equally ridiculous his sister used to say.

He stood up with another whine of pain and straightened his tunic, blue as deep lake water, and picked twigs and leaves out of his disheveled ponytail as he approached the tower.

Up close it was... Well, a lot higher than it looked. There was no ladder or staircase to be found, and Thorin dug in his satchel. "Aha!" He pulled out a couple of steel, sharp-pointed shafts that he'd used in the past for picking rather large locks. They looked ridiculous, he would admit, but they had proved their usefulness. And they did so again now, as he jammed them between the stones that made up the tower wall, one after the other and over again, climbing up.

He hauled himself over the windowsill -unlocked, thank goodness- and took a cautious look around. No lights, no sound, no movement.

Heaving out a breath he plucked the jewel from where it rested, wanting to stare into its gleaming riot of color once more. Just for a moment, to admire the craftsmanship, you understand. It was not simple greed which fueled Thorin's escapade that day. No, this jewel had a much bigger part to play in his story, and there was no harm admiring it aesthetically while he caught his breath. It _had _nearly gotten him caught, after all.

"You'd better be worth the trouble," he told it, and he turned to find a place to sit down for a minute when-

_BAM! _

The back of his head exploded with pain and everything went black.


	3. Chapter 3: A Chance Meeting

I am SO SORRY this took so long. I really am. I had a really stressful situation happen out of nowhere that really sucked away my creative drive, but I'm getting it back slowly but surely. You know how life is.

ANYWAY, I just wanna say that this won't have a regular updating schedule, and I'm very sorry about that, but do feel free to bookmark it and come back when it's done! Though I would greatly enjoy feedback, so maybe read it now AND bookmark it! But of course the choice is yours, dear reader c:

I also forgot to mention that here is what CeCe looks like ( wikipedia/commons/6/61/Holland_lop_ ), and it _is _short for something, you'll find out for what later c;

Bilbo stood over the unconscious body sprawled across his floor, his chest heaving and a frying pan in his raised hands. He'd let out a quite undignified shriek and grabbed the closest and heaviest thing to him to defend himself, almost tripping over one of the many strips of his hair draped around the room in his fright. Thankfully the man, for yes, Bilbo knew enough to deduce that much so far, went out like a light and didn't seem to be waking up anytime soon.

He gulped. "CeCe what do I do?! Who is that and why is he here?!" he hissed a frantic whisper at the rabbit in question, who hesitantly crept forward and sniffed the man's hand before looking back at him with eyes as wide as Bilbo's and shrugging as well as a rabbit could manage.

"Does he... smell dangerous..?" CeCe gave him a deadpan look.

"Alright, dumb question." Steeling himself and tightening his grip on his 'weapon', he crept closer, bending to inspect the man's face. CeCe squeaked and bared her teeth when Bilbo looked her way.

"Ah, yes, what had father said? Sharp teeth.." With the handle of the frying pan he poked at the man's mouth -noting the hair on his face, what a strange sight!- and parted his lips to reveal short, flat white teeth, no different than Bilbo's own.

"Oh," he spoke on a breath of relief. The man had black hair that was longer than fathers, and it was all... crinkly, wavy but much more so than his own. It probably went down around his shoulders when it wasn't fastened at the base of his neck as it was.

The force of the blow must've mussed it, though -Bilbo felt himself flush- because a lock had come loose and lay draped across the man's eyes. Very _very _carefully Bilbo brushed the hair away with the pan handle, revealing surprisingly soft features. The man's skin was darker than his, tanned, like he spent a great deal of time outside. That thought alone was scandalously exciting, and he bent even closer, taking him in.

A large, sharp nose he could see, smushed against the rug as it was. There was quite a lot of hair on his face, thick and dark in the eyebrows and strangely surrounding his mouth and creeping up his cheeks and down his chin. He didn't even know people _could _grow hair on their faces, himself and his father never experiencing such a thing. He'd have to ask him about it.

_Ask him about it?! You're going to _speak _to him now?! _Bilbo shook his head, worry overpowering his curiosity. What was his plan for when he inevitably _did _wake up? He knew he hadn't _killed _him, the stars forbid, as he could hear the tiniest puffs of breath every few seconds escaping the man's parted lips. He looked... peaceful, almost like he was a particularly lively picture in one of his books.

_Pictures in books can't sneak into your home and murder you, _he reminded himself. CeCe seemed to be thinking the same thing, and she nudged his foot to get him stop _staring _and get to a safe distance. As if to prove her point the man's eye that was visible fluttered open, and he groaned. It was ice blue and utterly enchanting, but instincts seemed to have taken over and, well-

_BAM! _

You could say he panicked.

After a pep talk with CeCe Bilbo decided that he could not, under any circumstances, leave this strange man unconscious on his living room floor for his father to see when he returned. This had to be handled with no small amount of _finesse _if we was going to be able to use this to his advantage.

That left him with the problem of hiding him.

It wasn't as if there wasn't a place to put him, the wardrobe in the corner by the tall mirror was a perfect, large enough space and somewhere his father rarely got into. _That _wasn't the problem. The problem was _getting him into it. _It had taken him more than a few -probably painful for _him, _when he wakes up- tries, and to be fair he was much taller and broader than Bilbo himself was.

He sat against the wardrobe doors, held shut by a chair wedged up against them, and panted, CeCe in his lap doing the same. He picked her up under her little arms and raised her to eye level.

"Well old girl, there's no going back now. We are _going _to see those lights." He put her down and stood up, a new determination lighting a fire in his chest. He met his own gaze fiercely in the mirror, picking up the frying pan where he'd discarded it.

"A fragile little daisy, eh father? I just took out a strange man twice my size with a frying pan, but you know, all in a day's work for _fragile_ Bilbo-" He spun the pan in his hand, the suave effect totally lost when it connected with his cheekbone and he winced.

He rubbed at the sore spot, hushing a quietly chuckling CeCe, and his eyes caught something in the mirror, something glimmering in the shaft of sunlight that draped across the room. He bent and picked it up, and when he straightened again, meeting his own eyes in the mirror, he gasped.

He stood at his tallest, shoulders squared, his hair draped in loops around him. He cradled the thing in his hands, a huge white jewel as big as an apple. It caught the light and split it into every color in the rainbow, making every surface that it landed on sparkle and glimmer almost too intense to look at. It made his hair shine like liquid gold splashed across the room, and the whole image seem... regal. Ethereal. He broke his own gaze and looked to CeCe, who looked just as shell-shocked, until she shook her little head and twitched her nose.

"What do you think it is...?" He turned it about it in his hands and nearly dropped it when he heard a shout from outside.

"Bilbo! I have a surprise for you, my flower!"

Bilbo made a startled _eeep! _and looked around frantically, snatching up the abandoned satchel that the jewel must have fallen out of and shoving it back _into _it, then panicking some more until he shoved the whole mess into a pot by the stairs.

"Bilbo, I'm not getting any younger down here," He sounded like he could either follow that with a teasing chuckle or a glare like a judge condemning a guilty man, and it always set Bilbo on edge.

"Ah- coming father!" he gave a quick glance to the wardrobe where the strange man was -hopefully- still unconscious inside. "And I've got a surprise for you too.." he said quietly, almost to himself.

He hurried over to the window and let his hair down, dutifully hauling his father up smooth as pudding. He was huffing a bit as he started speaking before Smaug could start. "So father, I know you said no, but see something's happened, and I think-"

"I brought cinnamon! So we can bake your favorite tea cakes for after dinner, surprise!" Bilbo's efforts, of course, did not stop him from simply starting his sentence in the middle of Bilbo's. He sighed and put on a smile as his father waved a hand elegantly over the little bundle of cinnamon sticks indeed nestled in his basket.

"Thank you father, that's wonderful! Now about that thing that happened. See, you said I wouldn't be able to handle myself out there, but-!"

"Bilbo," his father cut in, low and drawn out, leaning away from laughter and towards executioner. "I hope you aren't talking about the stars again, because I distinctly remember _dropping the subject." _he punctuated his words with the thud of the cake pan he'd taken out of a nearby cupboard, dropping it onto the wooden tabletop.

"_Magic lights, _and yes, if you'd just listen-"

"Bilbo we are done talking about this."

"But father _please, _I can show you, I can _do _this if you'd just-" he inched closer and closer to the wardrobe, an arm reaching out and almost touching the handle-

_"ENOUGH!" _

Bilbo recoiled immediately, pulling his arms in towards his chest and shrinking a good two inches, the fear shining in his eyes.

"You are NOT leaving this tower! EVER!"

Smaug had whirled around to face Bilbo, his fists clenched and his face twisted in the closest thing to a _snarl _that Bilbo had ever seen on him. A silence hung heavy between them for a full minute, Smaug's chest heaving and Bilbo's eyes glued to his father, hands nervously wringing at his hair again of their own accord.

Eventually Smaug heaved a sigh, his shoulder's squaring up straight again, and his face smoothed into a carefully crafted mask of regret. "Great, now I'm the big bad fire-breathing dragon, hmm?" he slumped down into his big plush chair and rubbed a long-fingered hand across his brow.

Bilbo stared down at his feet for a moment, swallowing the lump in his throat before speaking quietly. "I was.. I was just going to say that, I think I know what I want for my birthday now.." he gave the best smile he could muster, small and fragile and a bit watery as he looked back up at his father. "Some new gardening tools, made from strong iron like you brought back from the East Markets once? Mine have dulled, and, I just thought.. it's a better idea than the magic lights."

Smaug blinked one long, slow blink before speaking. "Bilbo, flower, that's a very long trip. Are you sure? It's nearly four days' time." Bilbo nodded, and Smaug sighed, standing once again and making his way over to him.

"Are you sure you'll be alright on your own?" His arms came to slowly wrap Bilbo in an embrace, one reaching up to stroke his hair gently.

Bilbo tucked his head against Smaug's chest and didn't meet his eyes. "I'll be fine, safe and sound up here."

Smaug gazed lovingly at the golden strands beneath his touch. "Then it shall be done. I love you very much, my flower."

"Love you more," Bilbo murmured.

"And I love you most." With a small kiss to the top of his head Smaug released him and went to drape his heavy cloak back around himself. "I'll ba back in four days' time. Do make that cake if you like, we can share it when I return." Another wan smile from Bilbo and then he was at the window, lowering his father down with his shimmering waves as Smaug shouted his goodbyes.

He stood at the sill and watched him go, waiting until he was through the hidden passage out of the glen and out of sight, and then counting to a hundred before he rushed over to the wardrobe. With one last determined look shared with CeCe, who'd hopped out from under the stairs where she'd been hiding, he reached out slowly and opened the wardrobe door, taking a deep breath and hoping beyond hope that this was going to work out.

When Thorin opened his eyes it was to a dark room and a pounding headache. He had to blink a few times to get everything to come into focus, lose the blurry haze around the edges. He moved to press fingers against his temples and found that he couldn't move his arms. He couldn't move his legs either, come to think of it. He jerked his limbs and they held fast to the chair he was sitting in. When had he sat down? _Where am I..? _

He finally had the good sense to look down and investigate, and saw that he was lashed to a sturdy wooden chair with thick cords of straw-gold, gently wavy...

"Is this... hair?" He slurred out loud, his tongue feeling heavy in his mouth. A voice in the shadows before him made him jump.

"Who- ahem, w-who are you and how did you find this place?" He- Thorin assumed the person was a he, sounded as unsure of things as he was.

"Huh?"

The voice huffed, "Struggling is pointless, you-you can't get out unless I let you out."

Thorin squinted into the darkness. His head really did hurt. The voice continued, gaining a little more confidence.

"I don't know who you are but I know what you came here for and, well, you can't have it!" He could see whoever it was waving something shakily in front of them in the dark, and they stepped forward slowly into the light as they spoke again.

"I-I said, hm, who are you and how did you find this place?"

"You've got to be kidding me." The man -well, boy, really, that much he could tell now- was wielding a _frying pan, _of all things, like a sword, held stiffly at arms length, and he had a smallish lump of a rabbit at his heels who was, unless Thorin was severely concussed (which in all honesty was a strong possibility because _lord_ did his head hurt), _glaring _at him.

The boy huffed again, loosening his grip on his weapon in favor of putting his hands in his hips in indignation. "What?"

Thorin let the question hang unanswered, though, as he finally looked up into the stranger's face. His eyes, though scrunched under his eyebrows in irritation, shone a deep grey-green in the light, and he had a snub nose that probably had a tendency to scrunch up as much as the rabbit's, he could tell already. His skin was pale and smooth, unmarked, and he reminded Thorin a bit of a rosy-cheeked porcelaine doll. Like he'd never seen the sun.

He was, well, beautiful.

His hair was like spun gold, falling to the floor and farther in spilling waves, draped around as much of the room as he could see from his position... He snapped his jaw shut and shook his head, regretting it immediately.

"Is this _your _hair?" Apparently that was not the right question to ask, as the stranger hefted his weapon again, at the ready.

"I know you're here to take it, b-but I have you trapped! There's nothing you can do, so just, just forget it!"

Thorin was confused. _Very _confused. Last thing he knew he was finally taking a breather, after successfully making off with the Arkenstone in one piece-

"The stone! Where is it? Where's my satchel?" The kid's rambling could wait for a minute. He did _not _come this far to have the stone taken from him and used as a sparkly paperweight by some kid who's delusional about hair-thieves coming to get him.

The stranger looked confused, before lighting up in recognition. "Ah. Yes, well, I've hidden it. I have some questions, and you won't see head nor tail of your things until I've asked all of them!" CeCe nudged his foot. "And- and you've answered them!"

Thorin rolled his eyes. He did _not _have time for this. He had to get back, what if the guards were still searching for him? _Well, _he thought, _the sooner I get out of here the sooner I can get back. _

"Fine," he said gruffly, "ask away."

The stranger looked surprised at that, like he was expecting to have to whip out a _crockpot _or something even _more _threatening.

"What is your name?"

"Oakenshield. Thorin Oakenshield." He spoke his name as menacingly as he could, hoping the kid had heard of him and would speed this along. He wasn't so lucky, for the boy seemed unphased.

"How did you find me?" _Yep, there it is. The nose scrunch. _Thorin didn't quite know what to think about how he called that one a mile away. He sighed. Might as well tell the kid the truth.

"Look, kid-"

"Bilbo."

Thorin blinked. "Okay, _Bilbo- _honestly it was completely by accident. I was in a... predicament, I was chased, I ran blindly through the forest and I stumbled through a big rock and saw this place. I figured I could hide out for a while, catch my breath and maybe find some fresh water nearby. That's it. I had no idea someone _lived _up here."

"You.. You don't want my hair?" He lowered the pan again, genuinely confused, and Thorin was hopeful that they were getting somewhere.

"No- why would I want your hair? All I want right now is to get _out _of it." _Seriously, this _can't _be normal. _

The kid- Bilbo, stared at him for a moment, unsure, and then he turned and knelt to the floor, having a heated, whispered debate with the _rabbit. _He rolled his eyes again. _I am never getting out of here. _

Eventually he stood back up, squaring his shoulders and putting on a stern expression which did not suit his round face. "Alright, Thorin Oakenshield, I'm prepared to offer you a deal."

Well _that _certainly wasn't what he was expecting to hear. "A deal? What kind of deal?"

Bilbo said nothing, just gestured to a painting high up on the wall, heavy purple drapery framing it on either side, before continuing. "Do you know what these are?"

Thorin squinted up at the painting, picking out the bright, swirling colors on the night sky backdrop. "You mean the _fireworks _display they do every year for the Lost Prince?" the word was spat like a dirty word, his features being clouded by a brief flash of anger that Bilbo didn't notice, bent as he was to scoop up the rabbit into his arms.

"Fireworks! I _knew _they weren't stars!" He said it to himself mostly, secondly to the rabbit, and not to Thorin at all, probably.

"Ahem?" Thorin cleared his throat, wanting to get to the point.

"Hmm? Oh! yes, right." The absolutely blinding grin that had slowly grown on his face at the talk of the fireworks slipped off, replaced by the in-charge demeanor of earlier. He may not have truly seen the sun on his skin, but it's light shines true in his smile, bright and burning and more _alive _than anything Thorin had ever seen. He found himself aching the loss of it, and promptly gave himself a mental slap, his brain stumbling back into reality just in time to hear Bilbo continue. "Tomorrow night they will light up the sky with these _fireworks, _and you will take me to them. You will escort me there, I'll finally get to see them up close, and then you'll escort me back home, safe and sound. Then and _only _then will I return your satchel to you. That is the deal."

He crossed his arms and looked smug, while Thorin could swear smoke was coming out of his own ears. He squeezed the arms of the chair in his fists -still _irritatingly _covered in _human hair- _and met Bilbo's eyes. "While that's adorable and all, the Palace and I don't exactly get along right now, so I'm afraid I can't help you."

Bilbo's smug look didn't go away as he merely stepped forward and, looping a length of hair over his fist, tugged on it sharply, hooking around a leg of the chair and sending him tipping forward until he was caught from smashing into the ground face-first by only Bilbo's hand bracing him just next to his head. Later Thorin will deny having let out any sort of undignified yelp. When he spoke again it was just inches in front of Thorin's face, and he gulped, despite himself.

"Listen, _Thorin Oakenshield, _you stumbled into my tower for a reason, whether you call it fate, or destiny, or whatever else, and to me that means something." He looked wistful for a moment. "I've been sitting up here, waiting my whole life for an adventure and here you come, bringing one right to my doorstep. This is the only way we both get what we want, Thorin. You can tear this place apart, brick by brick, _splinter by splinter, _but without me you will _never _find your satchel. He looked into those big green eyes and saw the same fire from earlier rekindling, not harsh or angry, just... honest. Thorin knew what determination looked like, he was intimately familiar with that. But he'd nearly forgotten what _hope _looked like, and he saw it sparkling there, deep inside Bilbo's gaze.

He knew he was breaking, and fast, and he pulled out all the stops for his last-ditch attempt to get out of this. "Alright, you've left me no choice." Bilbo let the chair fall back down on all four legs and Thorin saw the hope grow, _damn it this better work, I can't take much more of that-!_

"I'm going to have to unleash... The Blizzard." He hid his face for a moment, staring at the ground, and when he leveled it back up at Bilbo he had contorted on his face the coldest, most frigid, hard-lined glare he could muster. Any lesser man would have been sent squealing for his mother, or at the _very _least quaking in his boots. But, it would seem that fate was not on his side, for Bilbo looked almost _bored. _

"You done?"

He held it for a second longer before dropping it and scowling. Many things could be said of Thorin Oakenshield, but he knew a lost cause when he saw one. _Though there are quite a few people who'd argue the opposite, _his mind supplied unhelpfully, sounding quite a lot like his sister.

"Argh, fine! Fine. I'll take you to see the fireworks, then you give me back my satchel and we never have to see each other again."

Bilbo grinned that white-hot grin again, aimed straight for him this time, green eyes locking joyfully with ice blue, and Thorin could almost forget why he'd said no in the first place.

Why oh _why _hadn't he just held firm and said no?

Thorin was stood under the shade of a tree, arms crossed tight across his chest and scowling in Bilbo's general direction.

The second his bare feet had touched the grass he broke out in a fit of near-hysterical giggles, picking up an equally excited CeCe and spinning her around in his arms before bolting every which way, splashing in the creek nearby, touching _every single flower _he passed gently, actually _hugging _the gnarled old willow that Thorin was stood under.

"Oh Thorin this is amazing! It's all so- so! _Here!" _He giggled and scaled the tree clumsily, rustling a few leaves loose to fall into Thorin's hair, who brushed them off with a huff.

"Yes, well, that's sort of what 'here' means..." He grumbled. Instead of replying Bilbo froze, falling backwards off the branch he was perched on to hang upside down right in Thorin's face.

"Oh no... No no no this is bad! I shouldn't be here! Father will _roast me alive _if he ever finds out-" he flipped a complete 180, burying his hands in his hair and turning from where he'd been lamenting off into space to stare frantically into Thorin's eyes. "Does this make me a bad son? Oh surely it does, I'm the worst son in the world he'll never forgive me..."

He slipped an inch lower all of a sudden and Thorin started, placing his hands tentatively on his shoulders, holding him up.

"Father-? Hey no come on, it's normal to kids not to obey their parents every once in a while. Don't tell me you _always _do _exactly _what you're told?"

Bilbo looked down -which was actually _up, _at the tree branches, and looked back to Thorin, not answering.

"Oh boy." He dropped his hands and Bilbo yelped as he swung to right himself, landing (barely) on his feet. "You've really never left that tower before today?" Bilbo bashfully shook his head. "Ever?" he shot him a glare.

"Alright alright.. Well he can't expect you to stay up there _forever, _I mean, that's ridiculous." Bilbo still hadn't said another word and Thorin kicked himself. They were wasting time here, either this was gonna happen or it wasn't, and Thorin needed to get this show on the road.

He approached Bilbo slowly and spoke softly, "Hey, come on. Look at me." Bilbo met his gaze, his conflicting emotions crashing like waves behind his eyes. They both looked up past the shade of the tree as a raven flew by, croaking as it soared out of the glen. Thorin placed what he hoped was an encouraging hand on Bilbo's shoulder. "Every bird has to leave the nest some time. It's only natural, you can't be blamed for learning to fly." What was he _doing? _He _should _be convincing the kid that the damn ground will split open if he leaves, make him never want to step foot outside his tower again so he can get his stuff back and _leave _but- He actually kinda wanted the kid to get to see his fireworks. Locked away, a prisoner of your own upbringing and dreaming a lifetime of dreams of the greener grass on the other side? That was no way to live. Thorin should know.

_You have obligations, Thorin. You can't go frolicking around with some bright-eyed child when you have plans to set in motion. People to come home to. _

He exhaled loudly through his nose, shaking his head to clear out _his own _conflicting emotions, and thankfully Bilbo was still caught up with his.

Bilbo stared at him intently for a moment, then back up at the sky. CeCe squeaked from the ground and took a deep breath, nodding to himself. "You are absolutely right, Thorin. I'm eighteen years old, I am _not _a child anymore. And I think it's high time I did something about it!" He wielded the frying pan that Thorin hadn't remembered him taking from the tower high in his hand, standing as tall as he could and still only coming up to about Thorin's shoulder.

"Yeah that's the spirit. Right then, shall we?" He took a few long strides towards the forest wall, Bilbo following behind and only trembling a _little _bit. They came to stop side by side at the dense expanse of trees spread out before them, about to brave the unknown when a rustling in the bushes sent Bilbo leaping onto the nearest thing with a frightened shriek. "What is it?! Thieves? _Ruffians?!" _

The nearest thing of course happened to be Thorin, who only just managed to catch Bilbo and all his flailing limbs as a tiny gecko waddled out from a nearby bush, blinking slowly at them before carrying on with its business.

Thorin gave Bilbo a deadpan stare, still holding him in his arms, and Bilbo blushed up to his ears before releasing his vice-grip of Thorin's shoulders, dropping to the ground and giving a forced laugh as he patted down his pale green vest.

"Sorry, ah, I suppose I'm a bit... jumpy?"

"Uh-huh." He smirked down at him. "I suppose it'd be best if we avoid 'thieves and ruffians' though, huh?"

Bilbo laughed sheepishly and rubbed the back of his neck. "That would be preferable, yes." He scooped CeCe up into his arms and held her close.

Thorin paused. _That gives me an idea... _He straightened up and parted the branches in their way. "We'd best be off! Are you getting hungry? There's this place I know, _excellent _cinnamon spiced apple crumble.." _Please let this work. _This was taking far too long and stirring up _far _too many emotions for Thorin to deal with currently.

Bilbo perked up. "Oh cinnamon is my _favorite!" _

"You don't say..." Just like that the pair (plus one rabbit) ventured on and out of the glen, the forest swallowing them up without a sound.

Smaug picked his way carefully through bramble bushes and poison ivy, cursing at each snag in his cloak.

_He's _never _asked to leave the tower before, why now? _Hadn't he done a fair job of teaching him just what will happen to him if he does? A beetle skittered out of the underbrush and he crushed it underfoot without a moment's hesitation. He hadn't even entertained the idea of Bilbo wanting to leave, certain that he'd do as he's told and be none the wiser of the world outside their tower.

_Obviously he is not as loyal to me as I thought. _

He pressed on, over a moldy fallen branch and under a low-hanging cluster of vines, but seeing nothing. _He said he's been observing the fireworks, does that mean he's been planning to leave this whole time? How far back does the uncertainty go? _He felt as though a stone had settled deep in the pit of his stomach. _He can't leave. I won't _let _him leave. I will NOT lose my flower! _

He went to take another step and found he couldn't move any further, not with the seed of doubt growing greedily now in his mind. He heard the soft murmur of rushing water nearby and pushing through yet more brambles he found himself standing on the bank of the river that he'd have to cross in order to continue on to the East Markets. Taking only a moment to make up his mind, he took the pack off his back and upended it over the sloshing stream, watching with cold eyes as the apples and wrapped loaves of bread that would serve as his provisions for the trip were swallowed up by the water. Smiling a smile like slowly twisted metal Smaug righted the pack on his back and turned around, marching with with quick and determined steps back towards the tower.

The sun was just about finished setting when he stumbled through the hidden entrance, rushing up to the tower and calling out, his voice tinged with mania. "Bilbo! let down your hair! I was crossing the stream and slipped, lost all my food- Bilbo! _BILBO!" _The tower stood dark and unmoving above him, utterly silent.

Frantic, now, Smaug let out a roar of anger and doubled around to the back of the tower, ripping away the vines that had grown over it's base. Revealing cobbled stone he felt for the arch and dug his hands between the stones, pulling them away bit by bit and panting with the effort. With the opening made he clambered up a hidden staircase, shoving cobwebs out of his eyes as he came up under a false tile in the main room of the tower. He hauled himself up and stood panting in the darkened room, the entire structure shrouded in still darkness.

"Bilbo? Bilbo this isn't funny-!" He dashed up the steps to Bilbo's room and ripped the blanket from his bed, revealing only a handful of pillows.

"_Bilbo!" _He shouted for him over and over again, darting in and out of every room but coming out with only more panic rising in his throat, tasting like bile on his tongue.

He scanned the room, no idea what to do or where to look or where to _start, _when the moonlight glinted off of something tucked just under the bottom stair. He tilted his head like a reptile and bent to inspect it, pulling out a weather-stained satchel. He reached in and his hand closed around the cool, heavy weight of the stone. His blood ran cold as he lifted it out and he gasped when it caught the light, the satchel clattering to the floor out of his slackened grip.

The Arkenstone.

_He knows, he KNOWS! No, impossible, he _can't _know, no one does. Then HOW_-

Gripping the thing in his fist he glanced to the floor, a slip of paper having fluttered out of the satchel and came to rest face up, staring him dead in the face. His blood went from ice cold to boiling as he stared at the rumpled wanted poster at his feet, the face of Thorin Oakenshield staring up at him with a ridiculously shaved beard.

Thinking fast, he shoved the stone and the poster back into the bag and slung it over his shoulder, speeding over to a side table. He opened a drawer and pulled out a long, silver dagger, it's sharpened blade glinting cold in the moonlight. Stashing it away on his person, he lifted his hood over his head and, with a look that could send any self-preserving creature fleeing to shelter and out of his way, he descended the hidden stairs and vanished, leaving the tower behind.

This chapter was a BLAST to write, and I'm sorry again it took so long. I'll try and be faster about it, with your guys' encouragement!


	4. Chapter 4: A Splash in the Dark

After what seemed to Bilbo like an awfully long stretch of trudging through the dense forest the pair finally stumbled out into a clearing, at the other end of which was nestled a cozy-looking wooden building. A sign was hanging above the door and swinging gently in the autumn breeze, the words "The Mountain Hall" carved into the soft wood and painted a rusty red color, faded by the elements. Gazing back past the building and through the surrounding underbrush he could see that, true to it's name, the place was sat right at the foot of a rather tall mountain, rising slowly but steadily up behind the structure.

Thorin panted a little and gestured widely to the building as Bilbo struggled to free his hair from the snagging bushes and brambles, every inch of the golden locks matted and littered with twigs, leaves, and splotches of mud. "Here we are, our dining destination."

Bilbo gathered as much hair into his arms as he could and stepped forward hesitantly, looking over the place warily. "What is it?" CeCe trotted up next to him and tilted her head, her ears flopping to one side.

"It's a tavern. A very friendly establishment, wonderful entrees." He tried to keep the snark from his voice, he _really _did. He mostly succeeded, too. This seemed to convince Bilbo, his face brightening as he started to march purposefully towards the door, only to be stopped after a few steps by one of Thorin's palms flat on his chest. "Woah there, hold on Blondie," he ignored the kid's indignant _Bilbo, thank you very much-! _and continued, "I should probably go in first, you know, to check the place out and make sure they've got a table for us. You just stay here for a moment and I'll be right back." He met his eyes, waiting for Bilbo's small nod, and then he quickly walked up and swung open the great round wooden door, slipping inside.

He had barely a moment to gather his thoughts, pressed up against the back of the closed door, before a heavy hand clapped onto his shoulder and up billowed a chorus of booming voices shouting his name.

"Thorin! Finally you turned up, we were starting to think you'd been caught!" The hand squeezed his shoulder hard and Thorin frantically shushed the rowdy group. The man carried on, his voice dropping lower, tinged with concern. "What's wrong? You did get it, didn't you?"

"_Yes, _I got it Dwalin, but listen, I don't technically _have _it at this moment." Voices started to rise again in confusion and he shushed them again, a high-pitched hiss of breath, glancing out a dirty window to where Bilbo stood fiddling with his hair. "I'll explain everything, eventually, but for now I need you guys to act _mean. _I'm not alone at the moment, and if you all don't scare the living daylights out of my friend out there then this is going to take a whole lot longer than it should." He met his friend's eyes and gave him a hard stare, pleading with him to understand. "We can't afford to wait any longer."

It was _Dwalin _he was talking to, afterall, and that meant he didn't have to ask twice before gaining his full, unwavering support in the blink of an eye. He met his stare just as deeply, then, after a moment, gave a brisk nod and shouted above the racket, "Alright lads, whoever comes in that door after Thorin just pissed in your ale and is askin' you t'drink it, understood?" Like Dwalin, the rest of their group were as loyal as they come, and eager for any opportunity to have a good laugh to boot, and with as little information as Thorin gave them they were grinning and snickering into their un-spoilt drinks, up to the task.

Thorin heaved a breath of relief and gave the room a wink before slinking back out the door, coming back in a quick minute later with a wide-eyed Bilbo at his heels.

Walking into the tavern Bilbo was struck with the sinking feeling that this was _not_ how "friendly neighborhood restaurants" usually felt. He let Thorin lead the way, still wary of this whole _adventure _he'd decided was a good idea_, _and trailed behind him, bundles of hair in his arms piled up to his nose. He peered over it at the men standing in rigid lines on either side of them, varying heights but all of them taller than Bilbo, and all of them with a nasty scowl on their face and a wicked glint in their eye. CeCe moved from where she was perched on his shoulder to burrow into the locks in his arms to escape their jagged glares. Bilbo rather wished he could join her. _Come on now, none of that! It's gonna take a lot more than cold shoulders in some dingey roadhouse to keep me from seeing those lights, _he reprimanded himself and stood a little taller as they inched deeper into the warmth of the den, the only sound the shuffling of their feet and the crackling of a wood fire in a pit set against the far wall.

He met as many glares as he could, with as steely a resolve as he could muster with mud on his face and twigs in his hair, and was proud when he didn't trip over his own feet with his nerves. He finally snapped his gaze from a tall, muscular man covered in tattoos who was very menacingly sharpening an axe when Thorin called to him from ahead.

"Blondie! Come look at this, this man has an axe in his head! Just stuck right in there, come over here and ask him if you can touch it." The aforementioned man growled something at him then that he couldn't understand and slammed a thick fist against his own chest, some other men nearby snickering when it made Bilbo jump.

Observing the show with a manic glint in his eye, a short, gangly man wrung his pale, spindly hands together and ducked out the door, careful to remain unseen. Not a single head turned at his exit and a sly grin crept over his snaggly teeth as he slunk away and out of sight.

"My my, what have we got here, lads?" Bilbo gasped and spun on his heels, _nice try at _not _acting like a frightened little town mouse, _bumping firmly into the chest of a man with an earring made of bone and a strange, dog-eared hat askew on his head.

Bilbo gulped and took a step back, squaring his shoulders as best he could through his fear. "I'm- my name is B-Bilbo Baggins, hm, and- and I'm on my way to see the m-magic lights." He jutted out his chin, and for all that his voice wavered he stood as tall as he could manage, shuffling the bundles of hair in his hands.

The man stared him up and down, stepping closer so that he was looming over him. He took in a deep, slow breath through his nose and Bilbo fought the urge to close his eyes and brace for whatever was coming next.

He blinked more than once in confusion when instead of a shout- or, stars forbid, the swing of an arm- the man deflated, slouching his shoulders and placing a mitted hand on one of Bilbo's shoulders heavily.

"I'm sorry Thorin, I can't do it. Just look at that face! Where did you find this lad, anyway?" The man took his hand from Bilbo's shoulder and put both of them on his knees, cocking his head and squinting at him. "He looks like a wee canary on his first flight from the nest." When he met Bilbo's eyes again they were kind, warm even. He let his head fall to one side and scrunched up his nose in confusion, jumping when that garnered _actual cooing _from somewhere in the throng of previously threatening men. He whipped around to stare at Thorin, hoping he could convey whatever four question marks and a handful of exclamation marks looked like with his face alone.

Thorin was still standing next to the man with the head injury, who now wore an openly curious expression, and was pinching the bridge of his nose with a groan.

"Thorin..?"

"Nothing, it's nothing. These uh, these are my friends, I didn't know they'd be here today." Bilbo turned back towards the group before them after a beat, reminding himself to bring up exactly _what _just happened to Thorin later.

"Terribly sorry about that laddie, y'never know what sorts are roaming around these hills, never hurts to be cautious." A shorter man stepped through the ring and stood in front of Bilbo, his eyes crinkled in a warm smile and his forked white beard swaying as he walked. He looked to Bilbo what a grandfather must look like, if he'd actually met someone's grandfather to compare him to. He stuck out a hand and shot Thorin a hard look over Bilbo's shoulder, his smile back in place an instant later. "Balin, at your service."

"Bilbo Baggins, a-at yours, I suppose." He shifted the loops of hair in his arms to free a hand to shake Balin's and noted several noises of curiosity from the group.

The muscular man from before stepped forward, his arms crossed and his expression no less stern than when they walked in the door. "And what brings you here, Mister Baggins?" his tone was like the stone of the mountain beneath them, hard and cold. "How d'you know Thorin?"

Bilbo cleared his throat and twisted fistfulls of hair in his hands. _Alright Bilbo, time to really sell it. Don't muck it up, or they could still potentially decide to throw you in a pot with some radishes and have a 'naive adventurer' soup. _"He's my guide, you see. It's my birthday tomorrow, and he's taking me to see the magic lights, as I said." He looked down at CeCe's encouraging look peeking out from the golden tresses in his arms and smiled softly. "It's been my dream, for as long as I can remember."

The tattooed man said nothing, just clenched his jaw and stared at Thorin before nodding once and stepping around Bilbo to go and stand by his side.

The man with the hat piped up from where he'd gone to sit at the bar, the rest of the men slowly dispersing to sit around rickety wooden tables scattered around the room, eyes still hardly leaving Bilbo.

"Ah, I had a dream once, m'self."

Bilbo perked up, glad for the change in subject to anything but _himself. _"What was it?"

"I always thought I'd grow up and own a toy shop with Bifur over there," He raised his drink to the man with the axe in his head who muttered something unintelligible, eyes downcast. "Quite good with our hands, we are. Whittlin' and that. When I was a lad I had the _best _spinny-tops, thanks to him." He was smiling, but it was muted and far away, and it didn't reach his eyes.

"Why didn't you?" his voice was a quiet light in the dark silence that had blanketed the tavern at the man's melancholy musings. Behind him he could hear Thorin sigh and the muscular man almost _growl. _The man with the hat just met his eyes for a moment before taking the hat _off, _scratching his head idly and fiddling with the ratty edges.

"Because it doesn't pay enough. Hardly anything does 'round here, y'don't really have much of a choice in career when there's no food on the table." Several of the other patrons murmured their agreement into their drinks, the mood turning the room cold.

Bilbo looked around the room, taking in the wistful expressions and sad eyes all around him before settling back on the man at the bar. "I'm, I'm so sorry.. Did all of you have to give up your dreams to survive?" Not having enough to eat was never a problem for Bilbo, his father went out and brought back ample supplies regularly, and up in his tower he'd had everything he'd ever needed. He'd always felt a fair bit confined, trapped within it's walls, but he was starting to realize the other areas in which he was lucky, luckier than the people sitting around him.

He looked around the room again, meeting each of their eyes with what he hoped was quiet respect, his heart heavy. When he landed on Balin the man spoke up. "I always imagined I'd be quite good as a book keeper, maybe a writer." He shook his head when Bilbo blinked in silent question.

A man spoke up across the table from him, thick red hair like a mane around his head and face. "I thought I'd make a great accountant, but there's not much use in counting when it can all be done on one hand how much you have to last the month." He huffed and took an angry swig of his drink as another man spoke, scoffing.

"I had no _clue _what I wanted to do with my life. Didn't have to decide, turns out. Was just pure luck I turned out to be better at taking than earning." He spluttered into his own drink as an older, grey haired gentleman sitting beside him smacked the back of his pointed head.

Bilbo didn't know what to say, so he didn't say anything. He tried to convey as much sympathy as he felt through his gaze, and he startled when a heavy hand landed on his shoulder.

"Things have never been easy for us; these people have given up so much more than they should ever have had to," Thorin's voice was low and even, just next to his ear. He sighed again, sounding resolute. "If anyone's dream is going to come true, it may as well be yours." He smiled down at him, just a slight upturn of the corners of his lips, but it warmed Bilbo to his core, chasing away the cold that had seeped into his bones.

He found himself smiling back far too easily.

Voices piped up louder now, latching onto the hope that Bilbo brought with him, all in gracious support of a man they'd tried to scare the wits out of not fifteen minutes earlier. _What strange company Thorin Oakenshield keeps, _he thought to himself, failing to contain the shy grin that broke out at the cheer.

Thorin raised a hand to quiet the din and took his hand off of Bilbo's shoulder, leaving the skin tingling beneath his shirt. "I suppose some introductions are in order..." He went around the room and named them all, friends and brothers and cousins and all like family to Thorin, if their comfortable jokes and jibes were anything to go by. The man with the hat, Bofur, he was called, tugged on one of the plaits in his hair as he caught his breath after some remark about Dwalin naming his axes after his childhood pets, Bilbo shuffling the -quite heavy- hair in his arms again and piping up.

"Um, Bofur? Excuse me, but how is your hair done up like that? Do you think, well, possibly, could you... do mine?" He dropped his tresses to the floor for emphasis, and he was buried up to his knees in filthy, matted bundles.

Bofur blinked and barked out a laugh, tugging on his hair again. "I reckon we can fix you up nice there, Mister Bilbo. Dori! Oin! Lend us a hand will you? Dwalin, grab a bucket!"

Bilbo could only watch as his hair was scrubbed and rinsed in a series of buckets, the twigs and debris picked out of it carefully and thoroughly, his stuttered _o-only if it isn't too much trouble! _and _oh really you are all too kind, I-! _waved off with friendly hands. They sat in a line, combing through the now shining locks and weaving strands of it all around in dizzying patterns. Thorin stood to the side and hovered awkwardly, and Bilbo was certain that if asked he would say he was "supervising".

In what seemed like no time at all, Bilbo's impossibly long hair was fastened into a single, thickly and beautifully wound braid, hanging down his back and stopping just past his calves. He spun around experimentally and giggled in delight. "Oh it's wonderful! Thank you, all of you, so much!" He wiggled the braid in front of CeCe who sniffed the end of it curiously, Thorin biting back the smile that was threatening to creep across his face at the sight.

"Really, I don't know how I can repay you all for your kindness." Bilbo said earnestly, pulling the braid over his shoulder to stroke. Balin stepped up and put both hands on his shoulders, gazing up at him warmly.

"Go live your dream, laddie. For all of us, for you. That's how you can repay us." Bilbo's eyes glistened and he beamed at him, nodding fervently before turning his head and meeting Thorin's eyes where he stood off to the side.

"I will."

Thorin blinked, a slight blush creeping up his neck, and as he opened his mouth to say something Dori gave a shout from the far wall.

"Palace guards! A-And a lot of them!" He was crowded up against the dingy window by the door, Nori already leaping behind the bar and thunking around under the counter.

"Thorin! Bilbo! Get over here, you need to get out!" Bilbo shot a fearful glance at Thorin, who nodded once sharply and moved quickly to join Nori, before scooping CeCe up into his arms and running after him.

Nori had pulled an old rug aside to reveal a floor hatch with a heavy iron lock clasping it closed, which he made quick work of _un_locking. He flung the heavy door open on it's hinges and grabbed a torch from the wall sconce behind them, handing it to Thorin and ushering them down with a hand to Bilbo's back.

"Quickly, we'll stall them as long as we can!" Thorin climbed down first, the rickety ladder creaking with every step, before using the torch to light Bilbo's way as it was his turn to follow.

Reaching the bottom he dropped down next to Thorin, grabbing his arm for support as they both stared back up, the shouting of guards cut off suddenly and eerily as the hatch swung shut, plunging them into darkness.

Thorin held the torch in front of them and turned to look down at Bilbo with an almost frantic intensity, the flames licking up and flickering in his eyes.

"Run."

They ran and ran and _ran _down a long, low-ceilinged tunnel, layers of dust billowing out around their pounding feet. They ran until Bilbo was wheezing beside him and grasping at his shirt sleeve, disheveled from their escape. They ran until Thorin could hear something other than the screaming thud of his heartbeat in his ears.

Finally they stopped, keeled over and heaving for breath, no other sound piercing the quiet until Bilbo panted out, "Thorin, who were those men? Why were they after us?"

Thorin met his eyes and quickly had to retreat away from the fear there, making them shine in the firelight. He clenched his jaw and started moving again, a slow walk after their sizeable headstart, and Bilbo fell in step beside him. "Let's just say they don't really like me."

Bilbo scoffed, still a little out of breath. "That's a bit of an understatement I'd say, wouldn't you? Those men were armed, Thorin."

"They _really _don't like me."

He could feel Bilbo's glare, hotter than the torchlight on his skin.

"Look, it's a long story but-" Suddenly Thorin stopped in his tracks, putting a hand out to stop Bilbo as well. "Do you hear that?" Bilbo huffed next to him and made it halfway through his retort when the words fell from his mouth and he stopped. He heard it too, the soft rush of running water echoing down the tunnel, getting louder with each new step they took deeper through the heart of the mountain.

Their tentative curiosity was quickly replaced by a renewed urgency as the angry shouts of the palace guards rang through the tunnel, reverberating harshly off the rocky walls and sounding much closer behind them than was at all comfortable.

Sharing only a quick glance the pair ran towards the less life-threatening of the sounds, coming out of the passage and out into a large open space, a looming cave with dark stone walls that glittered with moisture, dripping stalactites hanging ominously high above them. Opposite where the tunnel breached the cave wall was the cave mouth, wide and gaping, like some great giant had taken a knife and cleaved the space in two. They couldn't see anything beyond the mouth, however, as the entire opening was right up against the back of an enormous waterfall, the rushing cascade buidling into a roar in the enclosed space.

They hardly had a moment to take in the vastness and quite _dead-end_ness of it before the guards were upon them, some three or four with stern expressions and swords drawn. Thorin glared at them, his anger rumbling in his chest like the sound a mountain makes just before it lurches forward in an avalanche. He placed himself in front of Bilbo, staring down the men with his arms raised enough to tell them that they very much _shouldn't _get any closer, if they knew what was good for them.

"Give it up Oakenshield, you've run out of places to hide." One of the guards stepped forward just once, nodding with certainty towards the wall of water behind the two of them.

Thorin just shrugged, his body tense and ready. "Haven't run out of places to fight, though, have I?"

For a moment, no one breathed. Thorin clenched his fists, the guards readied their weapons, and Bilbo gulped.

Just like that the moment was broken and the guards lunged, two of them for Thorin and one for Bilbo behind him.

Thorin dodged their blows deftly, sweeping out a leg and tripping one of them onto his back, the air knocked from his chest. He raised an arm _just _quick enough to block a blow from a sword hilt, grabbing the guard's wrist and yanking down, sending the man tumbling. He heard Bilbo yelp, followed by a loud _thwang, _and Thorin spun around to see Bilbo wielding the frying pan he had no idea Bilbo had brought along but was incredibly glad he did.

Distracted as he was his head was suddenly jerked back, one of the fallen guards having stumbled back up and grabbed hold of his ponytail, pulling hard. Thorin stumbled, falling hard against the cold rock of the cave floor. Before he could catch a breath a sword blade was sweeping down towards him, and he rolled away just in time to hear it clang loudly on the rock just behind his head.

Bilbo was swinging his pan wildly at the one guard still pursuing him, keeping him at a distance and inching backwards with each swing. Another guard reared on Thorin, swinging his sword high and Bilbo was moving before he even decided to.

"Thorin! Catch!" He turned just in time to catch the frying pan in one fist and block the sword blow, sending a wide-eyed look Bilbo's way when it was safe to do so.

Bilbo let out a breath when he actually caught the thing and used it, but he jumped back with a shout as the guard that was still very much attacking _him _took his chance to swing at him. He'd jumped back too far, though, and he slipped on the wet edge of the cave mouth, the roar of the wall of water impossibly loud in his ears as he fell through it, scrabbling for a handhold at the last second. He didn't fall, and, hanging suspended there halfway out of the waterfall with a frazzled CeCe held tight in his other arm he could see past it. There was a steep crevice where the cave floor ended, stretching down into the hazy oblivion of the water crashing _down down down _below them. Across from the cave, though, across the gap, there was an outcropping of rock, the continuing mountainside pocked with deep pits and jagged rises. It looked climb-able, at least much more of a way out than a dead-end cave. Some of the outcrops were large enough for a person or two to stand on and almost horizontal, and it was worth any shot they could take.

He was pulled back into the cave spluttering and soaked to the bone by Thorin's fist balled tight in the front of his vest, his eyes wide and fierce. Thorin swung hard at the guard that had been after Bilbo, catching his jaw with a sickening crack. The other two were down, cluctching their sides and groaning. Bilbo saw it as their window and pulled Thorin over to the waterfall, sticking out a hand to part the water so Thorin could see what he'd seen.

"We have to jump, it's our only way out!" Thorin's brow was scrunched tight in confusion and the whites of his eyes were gleaming in the low light of the cave.

He nodded once, resolute, and walked quickly to the back of the cave near the tunnel entrance. Bilbo stepped aside and Thorin stared ahead with a hard determination, breathing heavily out his nose as he charged, using the running start to burst through the wall of water and out of the cave, like he'd never been there. Bilbo scrambled to the edge and stuck his head out, hanging it in relief when he saw Thorin sprawled across one of the flatter outcrops, rising shakily to his feet. He shouted over the crashing of the water.

"Alright, I'm coming now! Don't-" he swallowed thickly. "don't let me fall, Thorin." Without waiting for a reply he pulled his head back inside, shaking the water from his eyes as he ran to the tunnel mouth. The guards were already almost back on their feet, he didn't have time to dwell on what would happen if this didn't work. He took a deep breath and, holding CeCe to his chest with both arms wrapped around her, bolted for the opening, the hand of one of the guards _just _missing his ankle as he leapt through the water.

All sound fell away as he soared, mottled grey nothingness above and below him. He couldn't let CeCe fall, which meant he wouldn't have hands to grab onto the ledge with should he miss his mark. He shut his eyes tight and let whatever was going to happen happen, and he gasped and flung them open again when he landed, safely and securely against Thorin's chest and into his outstretched arms.

Neither of them had time to celebrate their both being _still alive _and _escaped_ before Thorin was stumbling, the force of catching Bilbo throwing them backwards. Thorin's arms tightened around him, and his around CeCe, as Thorin lost his footing and they were all sent hurtling off the ledge and down into a crack in the mountainside.

They were falling, and they _kept on _falling and falling and _falling_, down a long and narrow shaft of rock. They collided with the shaft wall on their descent and Thorin twisted their weight, the flesh of his arm ripped into by the sharp points, just inches from Bilbo's head where he cradled it away from the impact. He let out a loud growl that was swallowed up as they reached the bottom and plunged under water.

Bilbo emerged with a gasp, CeCe shivering on his head and holding tight to his hair. Thorin came up a moment later, favoring one arm to clutch at the mossy rock wall around them. They all looked up in unison, the slash of light high above them small and as good as celestial, so far away from them it was.

Bilbo clutched at the wall, having no skill at all in staying afloat, and started to panic. "Thorin- Thorin I can't feel the bottom, can you-?"

"No, it's too deep. We have to try and climb out, just-" He scrambled to pull himself up, getting only an inch when his grip slipped and he fell back down with a splash. The rounded shaft wall, only about four feet in diameter, was coated in a slick, slimy sludge, built up no doubt by years of trickling residue from the waterfall somwhere above them.

An angry shout tore through him and he slammed a fist against the useless stones. They were trapped. Nothing but water beneath them, high walls towering above too slick to climb, and Thorin was bleeding quite a lot now, his shirt sleeve hanging in crimson ribbons. He was certain Bilbo didn't know how to swim, how could he, and they could only tread water for so long.

They were essentially rats down a well, left to die, and Thorin hated that Bilbo was here with him. He should be safe, happy, that white-hot grin blazing across his face as he stares up at his magic lights. But instead he's here with a screw up of a thief, down a dark wet hole, slow death inevitable. He was about to open his mouth and apologize, apologize for everything he'd put him through,when a very distinct sound sapped the words away, turning sour in his throat.

Bilbo was _crying. _

"I never sh-should've come here, I never should've done this..." He had a hand pressed to his eyes, the other still clutching the wall to stay afloat. "You shouldn't be here, stuck with me... It's all my fault. I'm _s-so sorry _Thorin..." he choked out a sob and Thorin couldn't force himself to speak, trapped in yet another way as he could only look on and watch the kid fall apart.

Bilbo sniffled and chuckled out a cold laugh, no trace of real humor in it. "Oakenshield... if only it could've protected you from me, huh?" He sniffed and wiped his nose across his arm, eyes downcast.

Thorin finally found his words again, though they were incredibly soft and not at all the ones he'd planned on saying.

"Fitzdurin."

Bilbo looked up at him with shimmering eyes and sniffed again. "What?"

"My real name is Thorin Fitzdurin." He bit the inside of his cheek and looked away, his voice barely more than a whisper. "Someone ought to know."

When he finally looked back up and met Bilbo's eyes again, took in that muted but _genuine _smile, he couldn't find it in him to be too embarrassed about it. He didn't want to spend his last few hours on earth brooding about a past he coudln't change.

He wanted to spend it making Bilbo smile as many times as he could before it was all over.

Bilbo spoke up again, a confession of his own, and Thorin was brought back to reality.

"I have magic hair that glows when I sing, heh..."

_What?_

Bilbo's expression went from sadly wistful to acutely focused. "I have magic hair that glows when I sing! Thorin that's it!" He was beaming at him now, and Thorin couldn't grab hold of a single one of the responses flying around his head to throw out of his mouth before Bilbo began to sing, high and thrumming with a hope that Thorin desperately clung to, dispite himself.

_Flower gleam and glow, let your power shine..._

Thorin gaped as, starting from his roots and slowly creeping all the way through his long braid, a bright golden light like the sun shining through the dappled yellow leaves of autumn illuminated Bilbo's hair, lighting up the dark space.

When Bilbo finished out the verse every last hair on his head was blazing bright, shimmering and sparkling as it swayed in the water. Bilbo laughed in triumph and grabbed the end of the braid, thrusting it down into the water as far as he could go without going under.

"Can you see anything? A way out?" He swivveled it this way and that, and Thorin pulled himself together long enough to gently grab Bilbo's wrist and take the braid from him, taking a breath and plunging down into the depths.

He came back up with a gasp for air and _grinned _at Bilbo. "There's a passage, leading away from the side of this one. It comes up into an air pocket, it's the best option we've got." Bilbo pried CeCe off of his scalp and held her, still smiling. "You'll have to hold your breath, okay? You go first, use your hair to guide you." Bilbo nodded bravely and took a long, deep breath, CeCe following suit, locking eyes with Thorin before going down. Thorin followed close behind, and after an almost too long swim through the side tunnel they came up desperately for air in another cave, this one thankfully not submerged.

The trio hauled themselves up and out of the water, Thorin giving Bilbo his good arm to pull him out, and they both laughed in utter relief at the sight of an entrance -or rather, an exit- just off to the side, sunlight, streaming in and glittering on the water.

They stepped out into the light, blinking into it after so long in the dark, and Bilbo sighed a ragged sigh with his whole body at the feeling of soft grass underfoot. it seemed they'd gone all the way through the mountain, getting spat out at the edge of a deep forest, lapping at the mountain's feet.

Thorin lifted his face to the sun and breathed deep, in awe that they were alive _at all, _after all of that, all thanks to...

His head snapped upright, and he turned slowly to look at Bilbo intently.

"Your hair glows."

Bilbo smiled sheepishly up at him.

"_Why _does your hair glow?!"

Bilbo shook his head, nudging CeCe from shaking the water out of her fur, and walked ahead.

"Come on, let's go make camp. Or something."

Thorin had no choice but to follow, absently wringing water out of his own hair as his jaw attempted to touch the floor.


	5. Chapter 5: Storytelling

This is a short chapter, about half as long as chapter 4, BUT chapter 6 will be -really- long, I can say that with certainty. So please do enjoy this shorter chapter until next time!

"You're being awfully cryptic as you wrap your hair around my injured arm. All that's going to do is get it all bloody, I hope you realise that..."

They'd found a small glen, not too far a walk from the slope of the mountain, and the first thing Bilbo had done once they decided to rest there for the night and make up a small fire was sit Thorin down on a fallen tree and examine his arm.

He peeled what was left of his shirt sleeve back gently, wincing at the sight of the skin beneath. The flesh of his forearm was practically shredded, three or four long, jagged cuts running deep from nearly his wrist to just a little bit past his elbow. It was still bleeding, not quite profusely but it was still a steady trickling, a worrying amount nonetheless. He'd layed Thorin's arm gingerly across his knees and pulled his braid over one shoulder, now mostly disheveled and with stray tufts poking out along its length. He undid the end of it with a fleeting feeling of regret at the loss of the tavern men's artistry, but it had to be done. He'd then wrapped the hair in gentle but firm loops around the whole of Thorin's injury, tutting at him to stay still.

"It doesn't just glow, you know. That would be quite useless, wouldn't it? Though I suppose it did help us out back there." Thorin just stared, one eyebrow quirked up suspiciously. "Oh alright, just- don't freak out, alright?" He didn't look any less wary, but he also didn't look any _more _so, so he closed his eyes and began to sing.

_"Flower, gleam and glow_

_Let your power shine_

_Make the clock reverse_

_Bring back what once was mine..."_

Thorin watched with wide eyes as his hair slowly began to light up, from end to end just like in the cave, as Bilbo sang. He moved his gaze from the hair around his arm to Bilbo's face, though, and was absolutely floored. He sang beautifully, so sweet and high and smooth, like the first taste of honey after a long winter. Gone was the shakiness that his nerves gave it, back in the cave when they still thought they might not get out of there alive. Gone was the rush of the words tumbling over each other, desperate to see if this strange gift of his would help at all. There was instead a calm flow to his words, a determination in the words to do whatever it was Bilbo was doing with them. For a moment he forgot all about the pain in his arm and just watched Bilbo, let the melody wash over him.

Before he knew it Bilbo stopped, opened his eyes and looked at Thorin cautiously, slowly unwrapping the hair from around his arm. Loathe as he was to tear his gaze away from Bilbo he _did _need to make sure he wasn't still bleeding to death. He looked down at his arm and blanched, turning it over in front of his face and marveling at the smooth, unmarred skin, not a scratch or drop of blood in sight.

"You're freaking out, I knew you'd freak out.."

"N-No! I uh, just wasn't expecting... this, is all. How uh, how long has it, um... done that?" He could practically _hear _his sister laughing at him.

Bilbo didn't seem perturbed by his vocal fumbling, though; in fact he seemed relieved that Thorin wasn't running for the hills, and it broke Thorin's heart.

"It's always been this way," He still had his braid slung over his shoulder and he was fiddling with the undone end, lost in thought. "Father said that when I was young, still just a baby, people tried to cut it and take it for themselves." CeCe hopped over from where she'd been grooming herself and settled down between his feet, laying her head on one foot in silent support. "Problem is, once it's cut, it turns brown and loses its power." He looked up and met Thorin's eyes then, reaching up and tugging a short, coppery brown lock of hair from behind his ear.

"What it can do, a gift like this, it must be protected. That's why father never let me... That's why I never left. I was safe there."

Thorin spoke, finally, his voice soft. "You never left that tower, all this time, and you're still going back?"

Bilbo twisted his braid roughly in his hands. "No! ...yes? Oh I don't know..." He slumped his shoulders and sighed, straightening up a little with a soft smile when CeCe snuggled up closer on his foot.

"So! Thorin Fitzdurin huh?" Thorin grimaced, allowing Bilbo to change the subject but not at all pleased that the new subject was _that. _

"I hoped you'd forgotten about that in our near-death experience anxiety."

Bilbo shook his head faux-solemnly. "No such luck, I'm afraid." He flapped his hands at him. "Go on then, out with it!"

Thorin groaned and pleaded with the quickly darkening sky for a way out of this conversation. When all he got from the twinkling stars was silence he met Bilbo's eyes again. "I'll spare you the story of little homeless child Thorin Fitzdurin, it's not really a happy one."

Bilbo just grinned and scooted closer to him on the log they both shared, hands folded in his lap, and Thorin laughed openly.

"Alright! Alright, since it seems I won't be able to convince you to drop it," his tone was teasing, and Bilbo just shook his head, smile still stuck on his face.

"My parents died, when I was just a little kid. House fire, I don't know how we made it out, to be honest, my little brother and sister and me. We didn't have any other family, so we were sent to go live in an orphanage." He stared into the fire, the calm flickering of the flames leading him on.

"I used to read this book, it was my absolute favorite thing in the world. I used to read it to my siblings, and all the other kids. It was about Sir Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain, as strong and fierce as he was kind and loving. He always went on these fantastic adventures, got himself into the worst sorts of trouble, but he always made it out of it." He was smiling now, a sad and wistful little thing. "That's why I took the name, Oakenshield, to make me feel strong. Make me feel like I had something to protect me from all the scary parts of the world. It's silly, I know.."

Bilbo spoke up, interrupting him with slightly wet eyes. "No, it's not silly at all. In fact, I think it's rather brave." Thorin smiled back at him, eyes shimmering in the firelight. Bilbo pushed on, engrossed in the story. "What happened then?"

"Balin took us in, my sister and I. He owns the Mountain Hall, and he told me he needed a busboy. Mostly I think he just felt sorry for us."

"And your brother...?" Thorin's face fell and he clenched his jaw, looking away and back into the fire.

"A fever started spreading around, one winter. It snowed _so much _that year, we could barely keep warm, and there Frerin was burning up. He was nine, I was twelve." He plucked at his tattered shirt sleeve. "Nothing we did, nothing we gave him helped, and if there was a remedy we couldn't afford it. By the time the year turned Frerin was gone."

Bilbo felt like there was a stone in his throat. He couldn't imagine feeling what Thorin had felt, going through what life forced him to go through. It was just too much, and he marveled that Thorin could still smile and laugh at all. That all hope hadn't been stolen from his heart a long time ago.

"You said- back at the tavern, you said that, you'd all given up so much I- I never thought-" He stopped when Thorin placed a gentle hand on his knee. Bilbo took a deep breath and continued. "You didn't like the fireworks, practically scowled when I mentioned them. It's because of him, isn't it? If the palace has money to spend year after year on these- these lights, why couldn't they help save your brother..."

Thorin's voice was impossibly low, barely even there. "You didn't know. How could you? You aren't to blame for any of this." He smiled softly, so _so _softly down at him. "The lights mean something very different to you. Something good." He rubbed light circles into his knee with his thumb, almost absently.

"Everything I've done, I've done for them. My family."

"Your sister?" _And every last man at the tavern, _Bilbo thinks, a warmth blooming in his chest and helping to chase out the hollow cold Thorin's story had left.

"And her sons. My nephews, you'd love them. They're only kids, nine and ten, but they're made of mischief I swear it."

Everything seems to shift, then, as Bilbo pictures Thorin with two rambunctious children in his arms, telling them stories and tickling them silly. It's something he never would've imagined him doing, but it just _fits, _and Bilbo's heart melts. He deeply hoped to meet these nephews someday, if only to see with his own eyes Thorin's obvious love for them.

"Well," Thorin patted Bilbo's knee before removing his hand and standing, almost as if he'd forgotten he'd put it there, and stretched. "I'll go find some more firewood, looks like we've talked the fire to cinders."

They shared another soft smile before Thorin turned away, and just before he was swallowed up by the darkness of the forest Bilbo spoke up again.

"For the record? I like Thorin Fitzdurin _much _better."

Thorin smiled again, more of it showing in his eyes than before. "Then you'd be the first. And, thank you." Their grins matched as Thorin turned again and walked off into the forest, leaving CeCe the only witness to Bilbo's blush and dreamy sigh.

"Oh hush you, go back to your bath you awful rodent." But he was smiling, and CeCe looked smug, and even with the dark pressing in all around him and Thorin not by his side, he wasn't afraid.

...Until a twig snapped loudly behind him and he whirled around, gasping in surprise.

"Father! What- What are you doing here? How did you find me?" He'd sprung into a standing position and backed up a few paces as his father emerged from the forest wall, his travel cloak hanging across his shoulders and a deceptively calm smile on his face.

He was _so dead. _He gulped.

"Oh, well, it really wasn't all that difficult, dear. I just followed the scent of complete and utter betrayal and followed that." He was smiling, though, and somehow that made it worse. He placed a cool hand on Bilbo's cheek and he felt inexplicably like a rabbit in a fox's maw.

"O-Oh, I see... Father it isn't what-"

"We're going home, Bilbo. _Now." _

Bilbo stepped away from the touch and tried not to be intimidated by Smaug's answering raise of one eyebrow.

"No, father- I don't want to go back! Not yet, I've seen and learned so many things on this adventure, I-" He felt the blush in his cheeks and couldn't do anything to stop it. "I met someone. A friend."

Smaug scoffed. "Ah yes, the wanted thief, darling I'm _so _proud." He stepped forward and extended a hand to his son. "Come, Bilbo, we're leaving."

Bilbo stepped back, staring hard at hand in front of him and swallowing. "Father, if you'd just listen- I, I think he likes me! He's not _just _a thief, he has his reasons! He-"

"Bilbo, do you _hear _yourself right now? He's a _criminal, _a dangerous one at that, and you think he actually _likes _you? He's _using _you, sweetheart, can't you see that? You have something of his and he wants it back, and he'll do whatever it takes to do that. It's all in your head, flower, he's lying to you."

Bilbo clutched handfuls of hair at his scalp, squeezing his eyes shut. He played over in his head his conversation with Thorin just minutes ago, his confession in that rock shaft, how he smiled at his friends -his _family- _at the tavern. It couldn't have been fake, it couldn't. _Could it...?_

"Thorin wouldn't lie to me, he wouldn't, I-"

"You what, you _know_ him?" Smaug sneered. "You know nothing about him, child, tricking people is his _job. _You are too naive to be here and this proves it. Come on, Bilbo, come home with your father." He'd moved closer again and had snaked a hand around Bilbo's wrist, startling him out of his thoughts. He wrenched his arm from Smaug's hold and stepped back further, his steps firm and sure.

"No!" He hadn't meant to shout, and the look on Smaug's face nearly made him regret it. _Nearly_.

"Oh.. Oh I see, _Bilbo _knows best, hmm?" His voice was low and deceptively calm until he roared back as loudly as Bilbo had, reaching behind him and thrusting a leather bag at Bilbo's chest. "Here, give him this! Watch how fast he leaves you once he has what he wants!"

Bilbo let out an _oof! _at the impact, clutching Thorin's satchel to his chest. He stared down at it wide-eyed, and sure enough, nestled safely inside was the glittering stone he'd found on his living room floor, what seemed like ages ago now. He snapped his gaze back up at Smaug as he spoke again, an angry snarl.

"When he leaves, _when _and not if, _don't _come crying to me. I warned you, flower, and now when you get burned there will be nowhere to go." He turned to leave, his face a cold and carefully crafted mask, and he tossed his last words over his shoulder before disappearing back into the darkness. "_Father _knows best."

Bilbo watched him go, trying and failing to will himself to stop shaking. CeCe rubbed up against his ankle and he let out a shuddered breath he didn't know he'd been holding. He heard rustling from the _other _side of the camp, then, from the direction Thorin had gone, and he jumped, stashing the satchel behind a nearby bush just as the man himself stumbled through the trees, his arms laded with fallen branches.

"This should hold us over till tomorrow at least- Is... everything alright? You didn't run into any more ruffians while I was gone did you?"

Thorin wasn't lying to him, he _cared _about him, and-

Well, if he wanted to savor this growing... _whatever this was _between them for as long as could, to whatever end, then no one had to know about it, or the stone or the satchel or anything else.

Not yet.

Smaug watched the scene unfold from his vantage spot, tucked up atop a boulder overlooking the glen where Bilbo and that awful criminal were camped. He watched with a wide and toothy grin as Bilbo did not, in fact, reveal the stone, but rather kicked it discreetly further into the underbrush where it was hidden from view.

"Patience, now," he spoke quietly to himself, his grin now positively smug and dripping with the twisted glee of a cat who's just caught a mouse and just won't let it die, toying with it as it clings to life.

"All good things to those who wait..."


	6. Chapter 6: And At Last I See the Light

First off I am SO SORRY this took so long. It's the longest chapter yet, and has the iconic boat scene, so I hope that makes up for it! My goal was to get this done before I head off to SDCC in a week and I'm relieved that I've done that! I'll hopefully have the next chapter up around mid July, apologies for lateness again.

ALSO this wasn't proofread super closely, if you find any errors do let me know!

Anywho, enjoy! :)

The sun was shining high and bright in the sky as the pair (plus one rabbit) made their way across a thick stone bridge and into the citadel of the Royal Palace, and the pleasant warmth of it seemed to seep into Bilbo's skin, making him restless and fidgety in excitement. Thorin, on the other hand, was on high alert. He scanned the groups of people that they passed for palace guards, tearing down any wanted posters with his own face staring back at him and crinkling them up tight, tossing them discreetly into the lake surrounding the structure.

The Royal Palace of The Shire was a staggeringly beautiful stronghold, it's gates thrown open and every inch of the place draped in bright ribbons and banners, in Royal Green and Gold, in celebration of the year's most anticiapated event. Venders lined the stone-cobbled streets, selling anything from roasted chesnuts to spring-toys and riddle books. Children laughed and ran around barefoot, light and upbeat music was played by anyone with an instrument, and every single face they saw had a smile stretched across it. Bilbo's own beaming grin was brighter than all of them combined, and Thorin knew his cheeks would hurt tomorrow. He also knew he wouldn't mind one bit.

Wide-eyed, Bilbo ran from booth to booth, whipping his head around to meet eyes with Thorin as if to make sure that he was as excited as he was. The light inside this boy was too much to be contained in one person, and Thorin felt inexplicably blessed to be the one he shared it with, here in this place so far from home where his dreams had bloomed his entire life.

Thorin _almost _wiped the wistful grin off his face before Bilbo turned back to beckon him.

"Thorin! Oh Thorin you have to come see this, they've got- oh-!" He turned to jog over too him but stepped on the still-undone end of his braid, strands having unraveled in his bustling about and getting caught underfoot, causing him to pitch forward. Thorin rushed forward, catching him under the arms as Bilbo laughed, his arms coming to rest around Thorin's shoulders lightly.

"Oh look at me! Like a newborn calf! Well, I assume, anyway, I've never actually _seen _a newborn _anything _before.." He met Thorin's eyes, smiling easily and still standing comfortably in his embrace, and huffed a small laugh. "Sorry, rambling."

Thorin just smiled back and cleared his throat after seeming to realise just _how _they were standing. He gently let go of Bilbo and he righted himself, coughing a hot breath into his fist.

"Would you, ah, can I fix that for you?" He pointed to the mess of hair at Bilbo's feet and _really _hoped his cheeks didn't look as hot as they felt.

Bilbo raised his eyebrows and grinned slowly, suddenly tongue tied where a moment ago you couldn't have _paid _him to stop talking, nodding and sitting on the raised stone enclosure around a nearby garden. Thorin wasted no time, kneeling down and picking up the strands as Bilbo turned to face him with his back.

It took him a couple of tries, cursing under his breath once or twice, and Bilbo laughed in front of him.

"Everything alright back there? Do I need to call for reinforcements to fish you out?" Thorin just shook his head and chuckled, saying nothing and patting him on one shoulder blade gently to tell him that he was finished. Bilbo pulled the braid over his shoulder to inspect and gasped.

The long, neatly re-tied braid was studded with fresh flowers, big yellow daffodils and bright purple anemone, lots and lots of little white daisies and springy pink sweet pea blossoms. Bilbo spun where he sat and stared at Thorin, looking like a fish out of water.

"Thorin, it's... so beautiful, thank you." He smiled that shy smile again and offered himself a distraction by lifting the braid to his face and taking a deep inhale. "Oh they smell wonderful!"

Just like that he was back in the fray, but this time he grabbed hold of Thorin's hand and pulled him right in with him. CeCe hopped along behind them as they went, looking very smug indeed as they swung their clasped hands, and Thorin gave her dirty looks whenever Bilbo wasn't looking.

It was simultaneously a relief and a let-down when Bilbo dropped his hand, having steered them to stand right up against a booth draped in deep red cloth that was selling books. He didn't seem to be worrying about a brief clasp of fingers _nearly _as much as Thorin was, and he scowled inwardly at himself as Bilbo excitedly reached across the table laden with tomes of all sizes, placing a thin one bound in navy blue into his hands.

"I think I've found your book!" He beamed at Thorin, and when he finally tore his eyes away from the sight and down to the cover he took in a gentle breath. Sure enough, sitting his his palms like the most precious of gems was the book, _his _book, "King Oakenshield and the Fire Serpant and Other Fantastical Tales" embossed in gold ink, worn with age. He rubbed the small gold oak leaf crossed with a sword below the words gently, as if afraid it would crumble into dust in his hands. He looked back up at Bilbo, who was holding his breath in order to keep from babbling and spoil the moment.

"You have indeed, Bilbo." He smiled then, not wide or bright or blinding, but solid, unwavering and true. He placed it gently back down on the table, giving the words one last long, delicate stroke with the tips of his fingers before silencing Bilbo's confused huff of breath with a hand on his shoulder.

"I think there are some sweetcakes over there with our names on them." Slowly Bilbo's face spread in a grin, and Thorin gave him a cheeky wink as he sauntered away with a beckoning look over his shoulder. Bilbo huffed again and ran to catch up, punching him lightly in the shoulder and laughing as they sought out the sweet smells of the baker's trolly.

They wandered across the courtyard, the blazing sun shining down on the bright colored banners hanging overhead and casting soft shapes across their faces as they bantered, an easy back-and-forth between them now. Bilbo was halfway through explaining that _yes _CeCe was a nickname, and that Carrot Cake was a _completely reasonable _name for a rabbit when you were twelve and baking said sweet when you found her sniffing in your measuring cups when he trailed off, slowing to a stop in front of a tall stretch of wall, a huge glittering mosaic set into the stones. He gaped up at it, a portrait of the King and Queen, holding a bright-eyed baby in their arms with hair like spun gold, shining like liquid sunlight.

The exact same color as his own.

His face pinched in thought and he reached a hesitant hand up to ghost his fingertips across the polished glass shards. The soft cinnamon brown of the Queen's curls, the rich greens of the King's tunic, the almost blinding white-gold of the House Insignia on the baby's garments, a sun with twisting tendrils-

"Bilbo? Are you alright?"

Bilbo jumped, jerking his hand back as it was about to make contact with the mosaic.

"I- Yes, yes I'm fine, I just-" he blinked a few times and gestured to the image. "It's beautiful."

Thorin cocked his head and stepped closer, gazing up at it alongside him. "It is." When he looked back at Bilbo he was kneeling at the mosaic's base, gently stroking the petal of a blooming milk-white lily, nestled in a large clump of flowers of all sorts and shapes and colors piled high against the artistry.

"It's for the Lost Prince," Thorin continued softly, watching Bilbo's gentle touches with a curious look on his face.

"The Lost Prince.." Bilbo repeated under his breath, standing once more. He took a decisive breath, but before he could say whatever it is he was going to say there was a cupcake being held just inches from his nose, decorated with bright pink frosting in the shape of a rose. He looked from the treat to Thorin's face, his smile a cross between a smirk and a shy grin, and took it into his hands, managing a garbled 'thank you' through a mouthful of messy confectionary.

The strange feeling he'd gotten when he caught sight of the mosaic was gone as quick as it came, and he and Thorin spent the day sampling all of the goods and activities the palace had to offer, on this day of celebration. They played a game involving cracking hard chestnuts against each other that a group of children were playing and found that Bilbo was exceptionally good at it, Thorin laughed while Bilbo doodled in messy chalk what he thought an oliphaunt might look like if it were planting daisies in a garden, and Bilbo grabbed his hand again when they had to duck under a cart full of cabbages to avoid a passing palace patrol. He didn't let go once they turned a corner and were out of sight, either.

Using their joined hands Thorin pulled Bilbo to his feet once they'd passed, trying not to sigh when Bilbo let go of his hand to pat down his vest pockets. He smiled back up at Thorin, seemingly pacified, and Thorin gestured to where his thumbs were still hooked casually in the folds.

"What have you got there? A souvenir?" he asked, stepping closer as Bilbo -_adorably, _Thorin kicked himself- flushed, and dug something out of his front vest pocket. Sheepishly he held out an acorn in the palm of his hand, small-ish and smooth. Thorin's brow furrowed.

"An acorn?" He shook his head. "Out of all the things in this place, things even _I've _never seen, you choose _that _for your keepsake?" Bilbo seemed to take offense and he deflated, making to shove it back in his pocket and Thorin hastily stopped him, mentally kicking himself again and cupping his hand in both of his. "Why?"

Bilbo's flush spread high on the apples of his cheeks and he chuckled nervously, unfurling his hand to display the large seed, Thorin's hands still holding it gently.

"I know it seems silly, but... It's so that wherever I go, wherever I end up after this adventure, I can plant it and... remember. You know? Remember everything I did, everyone I met." He met Thorin's eyes shyly, holding his gaze for a long moment. Thorin's face softened, and he shook his head slowly with a breathy laugh.

"You never seem to stop surprising me, Bilbo." In an act of either braveness or stupidity he started to rub slow circles into Bilbo's hand with his thumbs, the soothing motion sneaking up his wrist where his skin was feather-soft. He held Bilbo's gaze and held his breath, slowly tugging forward until they were _almost _flush, _nearly there, _just a breath of space more and they'd be-

They jerked apart at the twang of a lute springing to life, followed by the happy pattering of a pair of lap drums and the woody whistle of a flute. The two of them blinked like owls at each other, both of them now sprouting a fair dusting of pink-in-the-cheeks, before giggling only a little awkwardly, Thorin rolling his eyes when _Carrot Cake _-seriously, Bilbo was trying to kill him with cute ridiculous things like that- squeaked up at him like she'd caught him with his hand in the cookie jar.

The weilders-of-the-instruments appeared around a corner then, starting up a dancing jig that sent Bilbo practically hopping in place and, well, _dancing. _He laughed a high, joyful laugh and winked at Thorin before bolting out into the square, hopping and jumping and twisting and pulling smiling onlookers into the fray, the sheer embodiment of wild and untamed freedom. Again Thorin found himself having to pick his jaw up off the floor at another smug squeak from a certain _terrible, instigating fur-ball, _and he pointedly didn't look at her.

He didn't have eyes for anyone but Bilbo in that moment, if he were being honest with himself.

Unfortunately -or thankfully, depending on who you asked- his incredibly embarrassing and pathetic pining was cut short by an arm looping through his attempting to pull him into the throng of dancers. He shook his head frantically, with a resolute _No no no no no, _but the grinning woman was not giving up, it seemed, and all it took was a fleeting glimpse of Bilbo's beaming face, an echo of his giggling rising barely audible above the din, and he was grumbling and stumbling into the spinning circle of bodies.

As he was spun and dipped and stepped around to the admittedly catchy tune of the music Thorin found himself smiling, dropping his prickly inhibitions and clapping along with the group. It may or may not have something to do with the fact that with every cycle of steps he was _that _much closer to being paired with Bilbo, but he wasn't about to admit that. _Especially _not to a certain rabbit.

The music rose, the dancer's laughed, and the setting sun made Bilbo's hair glow like a candle in the dark as he spun and jumped, never losing energy but meeting Thorin's eyes more frequently as they grew ever closer. Another spin, another turn, a clap, and they flew together, slotting hands in hands and on hips like they were made to, a pair of misfits who fit together like a two-piece puzzle. They just stood there, still and breathing heavily and _smiling, _bright and flushed and unguarded.

They had only a moment like that, locked in time and locked together, before someone was shouting and people were flooding excitedly out of the square.

"To the boats!" Bilbo blinked, cocked his head, and Thorin released his hold on him gently, following the crowd and gesturing with a hand for Bilbo to follow. He led him to a lonely dock, everyone else already wound up in all the cracks and crevices of the palace, ready for what was coming next.

"Thorin, what-?" He looked warily but with wide curious eyes at the little wooden boat that Thorin had clambered into, holding a hand out to him.

"Best night of your life, figured you should have a front row seat." A soft curve of his lips and Bilbo was taking a deep breath and taking Thorin's hand, stumbling to sit at the other end of the boat. With CeCe preferring to watch the show from the safety of dry land, Thorin slowly rowed the pair out into the middle of the lake, settled right in front of the towering majesty of the palace.

Gazing up at the cold stone, glowing faintly from within and banners now dark shadows, Bilbo was uneasy. He averted his eyes and instead stared down into the deep black of the lake around them, stars above reflecting in rippling pinpricks on it's vast surface. He twisted and pulled at his braid, slung over his shoulder, and looked up when Thorin broke the silence.

"Great view, I'll give it that... Hey, are you alright?"

"I'm... I'm terrified." He _really _wished CeCe were there right now, odd as that seemed.

"Why?"

He gave his braid one last hard twist and dropped it back over his shoulder, his hands trembling in his lap. "I've been dreaming about my- these lights for eighteen years, for my _entire life, _what it would feel like when I _finally _got to see them jump up into the sky and... well, what if... what if it isn't everything I've dreamed it would be?" When he met Thorin's eyes he knew his were wet, threatening to spill over with whatever emotions his lights bring him, good or bad.

"It will be." The resoluteness in Thorin's voice startled Bilbo, but it was also comforting, in a way, that Thorin believed in his silly dream as strongly as he did. It gave him courage.

His own voice was still wavering, soft and vulnerable with that lingering fear. "What if it _is? _What do I do then?"

"That's the fun part, I suppose." He gazed up at the palace, the glow within steadily growing, before locking eyes with Bilbo once more, smiling softly. "You get to find a new dream."

As the hour drew nearer the people flocking the cobbled streets of the royal capital were buzzing with excitement, chattering and laughing and loudly preparing for the hush of the moment when it would all begin, just as it did every year. All of the noise and thrumming in the air stopped at the closed doors to the royal quarters, however, enclosing the monarchs inside an intimate bubble of shadowy silence, heavy and thick with the weight of the annual ceremony. Here, behind closed doors, they stood not as King and Queen of the sprawling Shire, but as a grieving mother and father, a broken family torn between vicious, traiterous hope and deep, all-encompassing sorrow and loss.

Belladonna reached out and slowly adjusted her husband's forest green sash, a blazing golden sun embroidered to sit right above his heart. He sighed, a long and trailing whisper of breath, and she looked up at him with wet eyes, a hard determination and strength shining in them brighter than the delicate strings of pearls woven through her hair in the soft firelight of the room.

Bungo held her gaze bravely, seeing the same desperate fight between resolve and the wild abandon of grief behind her eyes that he felt in his own heart, every year on this day that should be a day of celebration and cheer, but instead haunted them with brittle hope that their world would stop ending every single time that warm autumn day rolled around again. He felt himself losing the fight -he always seemed to lose this one- and he squeezed his eyes shut as his tears spilled over the rise of his cheeks.

Belladonna made a soft noise in her throat, like something choked down, and moved her hands from her husband's chest to cup his face gently. She wiped the tears away with soft strokes of her thumbs as she blinked away her own, smiling up at him as best she could. They'd never been able to say quite the right thing when this day rolled around, never been able to come anywhere close to put into words what it felt like. Belladonna knew in her heart that it was because there _were _no words for the pain they endured, everyday in backs of their minds and the silence of the dinner table some nights, amplified to almost unbearable intensity on their child's birthday. There simply weren't words, and so they said none now; they stopped needing them long ago.

He returned her smile after a moment, gratefully taking the strength that she gave him now, as she always seemed able to do. He reached up and covered her hands in his own, rubbing soft circles into softer skin. They both looked up as a gnarled but warm hand each dropped gently onto their shoulders, their royal adviser's face pulled in a melancholy grin similar to their own and shaded below his ever-present pointed hat.

"It is time," Gandalf says, and he squeezes them both briefly before letting go, motioning to where the heavy balcony doors were being slowly, ceremonially pulled open. With one last wordless exchange, King and Queen stepped out into the cool September air hand in hand, the din of the courtyard fizzling out into a collective draw of breath.

There on the balcony sits a single, modest tube of green and gold paper, and the two kneel down before it. Gandalf strikes a match and hands it to the King, who holds it to the fuse while he holds his breath. They stand once more, arms around each other in an embrace, as they watch the little rocket take off, barreling higher and higher into the clear night sky until it hisses and pops and _booms _into a huge, twinkling sun, its arms snaking out and blanketing the court in showers of golden embers, drifting slowly down like the tufts of a dandylion.

Soon, one by one like dominos the people gathered around the palace are lighting their own fireworks, setting the sky ablaze with every color and shape and sound imaginable. The King and Queen watch on, in the dark seclusion of their perch, and shed their tears openly now, seen by no one, Gandalf kindly turning away to watch the spectacle with a glimmer in his eye.

The pair of them were picking flowers out of Bilbo's hair and floating them across the water, seeing who's would float farthest and laughing together when they saw the first slice of color tear up across the sky, the dazzling trail of golden sparks reflected in the lake below them like it were a mirror. Bilbo was up and scrambling for the far end of their little boat before they even heard the impossibly loud _boom _muffled amongst the clouds only a second second later, sending it heaving and swaying and nearly capsizing in his hurry. He said nothing, and even if he wanted to he didn't have any words for what he was feeling, watching the sky erupt with dazzling blues and reds and greens and purples and yellows and- and colors he's sure he'd never seen before in all his life. His mouth could do nothing but let out a gasp of breath and then hang open under eyes as big as the moon, who's pale flesh it seemed was tickled by the soft pastels of the lights reaching up past the heavens.

All the unease, the twisting nervousness he'd felt earlier seemed ridiculous now, numb and far away as he watched his heart and soul leap and swirl and _burst _right alongside the lights. His entire life he'd had this baseless feeling, a ceaseless presence in his mind that told him these lights were _meant _for him, and now, here at the heart of it all, he knew that in fact they truly were. They were set off to call the Lost Prince back to the palace, yes, but these lights to Bilbo were his salvation. They gave him the drive, the push that he needed to stumble out of his tower and, blinking and laughing into the impossible brightness of the unknown, take his life into his own hands. The lights were a reassurance, a comforting _see, look how much you were missing! The whole world and everything in it is yours now. _This was his one goal, the one thing he worked his whole life to find the courage to pursue, and now that it was happening, that his dream was fulfilled, he could choose a new path. He could do _anything _he wanted to do, and now, having come all this way and survived everything the journey threw at him, he knew he _could. _

He was finally, truly, _free. _

Thorin watched his back with a softness that he knew he hadn't openly expressed in far too long, and he just hoped that Bilbo was watching those lights and feeling what he'd always hoped to feel, whatever it was. He wasn't sure _how _on earth he could comfort him if they'd come all this way just to have that hole inside him remain empty.

Then Bilbo was turning towards him, pointing excitedly at a particularly colorful one and beaming with eyes just for _him, _even as his life-long dream unfolded across the deep velvet of the sky behind him, and something cracked open inside Thorin. He knew without a doubt that Bilbo had gotten what he'd come here for, and the rapturous joy on his face spread to Thorin instantly, smoothing out the strangled worry in his chest.

When this was all over, he _had _to take him to meet Dis, she wouldn't allow other-

_Hold on. _

When had he started planning for _afterwards _with Bilbo? Up to that point it had always been 'what's next to get him to the palace', and now that he was _here, _what would happen then? Would he want to go back to his tower, to a father who would by rights be so furious with Bilbo that he'd never let him leave again? But if he didn't go back, where would he go? These were questions that Thorin couldn't answer himself, and he squared his shoulders as he came to a resolute decision.

Wherever Bilbo decided to go, Thorin wanted to be right there with him.

When Bilbo turned back around, he found that tearing himself away from the riot of colors was easier than he expected it to be. As if they'd done their job, cleared the fog from Bilbo's mind that had been steadily getting thicker for eighteen long years and set him on the cusp of his next adventure. He felt closure, he felt fulfilled.

Locking eyes with Thorin though they widened when he saw that he cradled in his hands two smallish tubes with bright colored paper wrapped around them, one a deep and inky blue and the other a rich, dark red. Both had golden swirls and leaves spindling around the shapes of them and they caught the light from the sky faintly. Thorin held the red one out to him with a soft smile and Bilbo gently pushed his hand back.

"Wait, I have something for you too." He calmly and with only the ghost of anxiousness flitting across his face reached behind him and under the wooden bench he was sitting on, and pulled out Thorin's satchel, holding it out to him. Thorin's eyes widened and in his silence Bilbo pressed on.

"I should've given it to you earlier, I know, but... well, I was afraid. I was scared you'd take it and go, and..." He took a deep, slow breath and exhaled it with a smile, his eyes never leaving Thorin's. "I'm not afraid anymore. Does that- do you know what I mean?"

The golds and firey oranges of the fireworks swirled and spun in Thorin's eyes, but Bilbo couldn't hear their sounds over the softness of Thorin's voice as he answered.

"I think I'm starting to." Thorin gently pushed the satchel back into his hands, refusing it, and Bilbo sighed in relief as Thorin struck a match, lighting the fuses of the tubes now held in their hands and pointing skywards.

Bilbo giggled in wonderment as they shot off their supports, hurtling into the sky in gilded trails of stardust. They twisted and tangled around each other as they soared, diving into the fray of the other fireworks but never losing proximity to each other as they rocketed into oblivion, as if they were tied together with some invisible bond that not even white-hot sparks and flame could sever.

When they finally burst (at the exact same moment, no less) the two tore their eyes away from the heavens and back to each other, a silence hanging suspended between them that was both easy and thrumming with potential for _something. _Finally, after watching the pinks and greens and purples from high above glittering off of Bilbo's hair like gems in a crown of gold for a long moment, he slowly reached out and took Bilbo's hand in his. Bilbo blinked at the contact, and his grin crept slow and bright across his face as he squeezed it, as if confirming it was actually happening. There was no explaining the touch away, no excuses about helping him up or tugging him along to look at some exciting thing or another. This _meant _something, and Bilbo hoped with all he had that it meant what he thought it did.

Still they didn't say a word, and Bilbo felt they didn't need to, really, for it seemed the universe was going to decide what to do with the moment for them. Neither was sure who started it, but they were both leaning in, ever so slowly, fingers intwining as they closed the gap between them, both of them completey sure and in the moment. Just a breath away now, two pairs of eyes fluttering closed-

The loud _crack! _of a particularly loud firework shook the sky, and as the townspeople cheered faintly from the palace Thorin and Bilbo jerked apart, both of them red as a beet and smiling bashfully. Thorin turned his head away to catch his breath -_and not get lost in Bilbo's eyes again_, his mind supplied quite unhelpfully- and as he rubbed the back of his neck he caught sight of the satchel again, resting at their feet.

His words left a twist in his gut as he spoke them, and he hoped that he hadn't just shattered this crystalline thing that had finally finished forming between them. "Bilbo, I... I still need that jewel. It's the only way I can better the lives of my people, my family."

Bilbo's face falls, and the tug of him removing his hand from Thorin's grasp shatters him.

"Ah- I, I see, of course... I mean obviously this wasn't- you didn't- oh that was stupid of me I-" Thorin cut him off hurriedly and snatched his hand back gently, dradling it in both of his.

"No! No, I mean, that's not what I meant. I need you, Bilbo. I need you with me." Bilbo's expression was unreadable, and as he took a shaky breath to respond Thorin filled the space, needing to explain himself. "I know that you don't want to go back to that tower, and I... I'd like to take you with me, when this is over. You could stay, if you wanted..?"

Bilbo stared and for a moment Thorin could swear he felt his heart stop, until Bilbo finally squeezed his hand tight and laughed, his eyes wet and even more bright in the fading glow of the fireworks. "I think I'd like that very much, Thorin Fitzdurin." He discreetly wiped at his eyes and Thorin politely looked away, but their hands stayed joined.

Bilbo's smile faded, after a moment of thought, and Thorin's own did in response. "What is it?"

"Thorin, you can't just show up with this... this _gem _and expect them not to throw you in jail? Expect them to actually _listen _to you?"

Thorin's jaw tightened and he looked down at their clasped hands, and when he looked back up his eyes were hard but his voice was wavering, scared.

"I don't have any other choice, I have to try." Bilbo felt his heart break, then, for this gruff criminal who turned out to be the most caring, dedicated, and _loyal _person Bilbo had ever met, which, even though he hadn't met very many people at all, he'd be willing to meet a thousand more strangers and still stand by what was in Thorin's heart.

"They'll never stop hunting you..." Thorin swallowed hard and said nothing.

"What if you tried talking to them? The King and Queen, that is."

Thorin gaped at him. "_Talking _to them? What, 'hi hello yes I stole your most precious of heirlooms but I have a good reason, see half your kingdom's poor but you for some reason can't see that, mind if I take over for a while?' I somehow don't think that will end in me _not _getting thrown in prison."

Bilbo gave him a deadpan stare. "_No, _not like that, but just- explain your motives, apologize _profusely, _I know that will be hard for you, and just... be honest. Ask for forgiveness, and beg them to listen to what you have to say." He saw Thorin visably cringe and the word 'beg', but he appeared to be thinking it over.

"Just... turn myself in? What if it doesn't work? I can't afford to be locked up for the rest of my life, my family needs me."

"Surely they must pardon you if you're honest, and you'll be returning their jewel which you took for a _very _good cause, completely willingly and peacefully." He looked up at the sky, trails of smoke from the fireworks zigzagging across the clouds that seemed to have been stained by all the color from just minutes before. "They miss their son so much, they obviously have plenty of love in their hearts to spare some to a changed man." He met Thorin's eyes and smiled in what he hoped was an encouraging gesture.

After a long, heavy silence Thorin sighed and nodded just slightly. "I've never considered that to be an option before, but one thing I am sure of," His frown finally started to shift, just the slightest upturning of the corners of his mouth but Bilbo would take it over any magic lights in the world.

"I am a changed man."

They'd found their way safely back to shore, Bilbo holding a very frazzled looking CeCe in his arms as Thorin tied up the boat loosely on the opposite end of the lake, the side that was bordered snugly by the thick forest that they'd come from the day before. They'd decided that Bilbo should wait here while Thorin went in with the jewel to plead his case, so that should anything go wrong Bilbo was safe from any blame. He'd also been briefed on how to get back to the tavern from there, so that if Thorin didn't come back in a few hours he could go tell his family what happened and they could decide what to do from there.

The last of the lights' glow had faded from the sky, and as darkness pressed in around the palace it was time for them to part, hopefully only for a little while. Bilbo had put CeCe down and Thorin had reached up to cup Bilbo's face gently in his palms.

"I _will _come back for you, okay? If everything goes belly-up in there, if I have to dig my way out with a spoon, I will come back to you." Bilbo's words all caught in his throat as it closed tighter and tighter, his own worry winning over. He merely nodded, and Thorin pulled him to his chest in a fierce embrace.

Eventually they let go, and Thorin tucked a stray lock of hair behind Bilbo's ear as he smiled and stepped back into the boat, readying it to row back across.

Bilbo watched him go, sitting on a large rock with CeCe in his lap, petting her head slowly an repetetively, hoping to sooth his nerves.

"Don't you worry girl, everything is going to be okay." She nuzzled into his palm in silent support. "He's going to be okay." His will held out, and he held it together even as Thorin gave him a last, parting wave, barely visible before he was swallowed completely by the growing mist.

Approaching the high stone archway that led into the formal greeting hall and finding it devoid of guards made Thorin relax a little, and sit more heavily on his trust in Bilbo that things might actually be resolved when he walked back out this way, that his family would have the resources that they need to not only survive but _thrive, _and he could find his way back into Bilbo's arms.

As he neared the chamber he could hear voices, one unmistakably the King and the other a pathetic wailing of a sound, like a distant relation bawling their eyes dry at a funeral to get on the good side of those with fresh inheritance money.

"...it's truly awful, your grace, that he would come here and taunt you so. I saw him with my own eyes, wandering the streets amongst our people! Our _children!" _

Thorin rounded a corner and was spotted by a group of guards before he could catch more, drawing every eye in the room to him.

"There! There he is sire, do you see?! He has come to steal yet _more _from you, on this day of grieving when your pain and loss is most biting!" The over-loud and wobbly voice belonged to an old man standing before the King, hooded in a cloak as black as soot. His hair was mostly grey, but Thorin could tell that it had once had all the darkness to match his garb, and his face was pinched and sagging in wrinkled folds, his hands bony and gnarled as they pointed a shaky finger threateningly at Thorin. His face was stretched in dramatic agony, but beneath sharp and greying brows gleamed eyes the color of blood and fire, spitting and hissing with contempt.

The King turned towards Thorin then, his fists clenched and trembling at his sides. His eyes were brimming with tears, no doubt wrenched from him by the old man's twisted lies meant to play on doubt and pain and sorrow. The Queen was nowhere to be seen.

"That bag, bring it to me!" He barked at the guards now holding Thorin roughly by the forearms, his voice betraying him as his tears did the same, spilling over his round cheeks flush with anger. One of them took the satchel to him that they'd wrenched from Thorin's hands and trotted it dutifully up to the King.

"Look, I took that, yes, but I'm turning myself in! I'm giving it back, I didn't come to steal from you! I-"

_"Enough!" _The King's broken cry echoed around the chamber, everyone falling silent as he pulled the Arkenstone from the bag, it's facets catching the light and spattering the walls in sickly purples and greens.

"Take him away." His voice was low now, quiet and spent after a long beat of silence.

Thorin thrashed and faught as hard as he could as he was dragged away. "_No! _Please, your highness, if you'd just _listen-! _Your people are _dying, _and you can help them! No, _no, _Bilbo! _Bilbo!" _His screams bellowed down the long hall towards the cells, but the king heard nothing. He stepped down from his dais like a corpse, shuffling with blank eyes towards his quarters.

"Why today, why did it have to be _today..._" He muttered into the emptying hall and just like that he disappeared behind a door, leaving Thorin's anguish to fall on deaf ears all around him.

The guards threw him harshly to the cold stone floor of his cell, and he scrambled to his feet and threw himself at the bars as they were slammed shut with a resounding clang.

Grinning like he had blood on his lips, Smaug listened to Thorin's howling anger and chuckled darkly, exiting the chamber with a sweep of his cloak behind him.

_Now that that's out of the way, _he thought with a twisted glee, _it's time to get my flower back. _

_And he is NEVER getting away again. _


	7. Chapter 7: Father Knows Best

Hey uh. It's been a while since I last updated, and I would like to apologize for that. ALSO this chapter isn't super long, so I'm sorry for that too. But! Next chapter will be really long and really action-y, so look forward to that I guess! It hasn't been proofread super closely, like last chapter so if anything stands out as wonky please let me know!

Minutes trickled past, each one dragging on longer than the one before it as Bilbo sat by the water's edge, flicking stones into its dark surface and watching the ripples spread. CeCe was sat in his lap, warm and still and a comforting presence beneath the shake of Bilbo's hand. He was humming a tune he'd picked up from Thorin's friends back at the tavern to calm himself; it felt like so long ago now that the song felt like a distant memory.

"He's probably shaking hands with the King himself this very second! Now isn't that exciting, girl?" CeCe snuffled her nose in response, and the pebble in Bilbo's hands dropped into the shallow water at his feet with a sudden _plunk _as a voice crept out of the shadows behind him.

"It would be, if it were true, my flower."

Bilbo was on his feet in an instant, CeCe skittering to the ground as he whipped around and stared in shock upon the rigid sight of his father. His cloak hung about his shoulders and fanned in the stray chill like veined wings the color of fresh blood. His shoulders were set and his back straight, but Bilbo could see that the knuckles on his left hand were white around the shaft of a walking stick, something he'd never seen Smaug use before in all his life. His hair was more gray than black now, and there were more lines in his face than ever there had been. The sizzling fire in his eyes was just as bright and hungry, however, and defied convention by chilling Bilbo to his core.

"Father! How- What are you-?" He gulped and balled his fists. He hated how easily just a glance from Smaug could hunch his shoulders and cast his eyes to the ground, like a dog trained to fear its master's hand.

Before Bilbo could gather himself and reply, Smaug continued. "I told you this would happen, but you didn't listen. Thought you could handle it, and now it's come to this."

Bilbo opened his mouth and closed it again, his brow drawn in confusion, before replying with a little more bite than he could ever have mustered the courage for before leaving his tower. "What are you talking about? He's in there _right now _showing the King the honorable man I know he is, and-" He paused for a beat a nodded, spurring himself on, "he cares about me. And I care about him too."

Smaug's eyes hardened almost imperceptively, before blinking it away to reveal a tender, carefully crafted sadness as he cast his gaze out to the lake, towards the palace.

The only sound piercing the thick silence for a long moment was Bilbo's sharp intake of breath, his hands fluttering up to his mouth. Through the mists a dark and unmistakable shape crawled across the water, a tall and broad figure hunched over the steering of a raft, cold and resolute in it's course. It was coming from behind the mossy feet of the palace and headed towards the oppisite bank, away from them. Away from Bilbo.

"No... No! H-He loves me, I _know _he does! He was going to take me with him, I-" Bilbo pulled at his braid and tried to process the feeling of every light and hopeful thing he had within him shattering like a teacup tossed out a window. The building roar in his mind was sliced into a halt at the sudden heat in Samug's voice.

"He _betrayed _you, Bilbo! He'd rather leave with his spoils and stay the slimy streetrat that he is than risk getting caught. He has no honor, and no love in his heart for you!"

The echo of Smaug's words rang out in the silence, and it tolled within him like the ringing of a church bell at a funeral, slow and deep and speaking only of endings.

He didn't take his eyes off the retreating figure until he could no longer make it out in the gloom, and even then his eyes were glued there still, for a few moments after it- after _Thorin, _was gone.

When he turned back to his father at long last it was with tear-stained cheeks and a broken heart. "Father..." one word was all he could manage, and he choked on it.

"I'm so sorry, flower." Smaug's voice and eyes both were gentle now, and he opened his arms wide and slow, dropped the cane he held to stand on slightly shaking legs.

Another glance back into the fog felt like a candle going out, and his face crumpled as he had no choice but to accept what he saw before him, despite how violently it cried out against what he felt in his heart.

_Everything I've done, I've done for them. My family._

That was it, then. The wild, explosive colors that clamored for space in his vision on this journey so far sputtered and died, falling away to reveal the dark and bleak reality before him in startling clarity.

He threw himself into his father's arms, then, no other direction that he could go having any meaning to him. Everything he'd seen of the world outside his tower Thorin was a part of. He was there with him through it all, and he was terrified that if he took on the unknown without him, it would be twisted and backward and _wrong. _Without his stedy presence, he would a little boat lost in a big, tumultuous sea.

He clung desperately to his father's chest, the only person in Bilbo's life who'd never left him. He sobbed his pain and his fear and his _exhaustion _into the only thing left in his life comfortable to him, until he was hoarse and tired and numb to it all.

"You were right father, you were right about everything..."

Smaug ran a hand slowly over the top of Bilbo's head and held him while he fell apart, sighing in insidious relief.

"Let's go home, sweetheart."

Smaug plucked the last of the wilting daisies from Bilbo's mussed and tangled braid, dropping it into a basket on the floor that was nearly overflowing with the last remnants of his great adventure. Bilbo sat on his bed in silence, staring at the same patch of wall that he'd been mutely glued to for the last hour.

Plucking up the basket and standing far more enthusiastically than was necessary, Smaug spoke. "There, like it never happened!" He ruffled Bilbo's hair and the last strands holding the braid together came loose, sending it falling away in wavey cords to sit sadly around him. "Now, wash up for dinner, I'm making your favorite! Mushroom soup with thick bread rolls, crispy just how you like it, flower."

Bilbo hummed in quiet recognition, and didn't take his eyes off the wall. Since he'd come back to his tower it felt like his eyes couldn't open fully, like all the color had been sapped from the bright world around him and he was left to skirt the dull and muted edges of life.

Smaug sighed and leaned against the doorframe, shoulders slumped. "I tried to tell you Bilbo, truly I did, and now you've seen for yourself what a harsh and unforgiving place the outside world is. Though I wish you didn't have to experience it like that, flower.." Bilbo met his eyes then, slowly, and tried to find something in them that could turn even the smallest light back on inside him. Finding nothing but a suffocating pity for something his father could never understand, he said nothing.

"The world is a selfish place, Bilbo." He straightened in the doorway, and his voice had lost the soft sympathy of moments ago and gained a cold edge; it felt like stepping out of the warm stillness of your bed onto an icy floor, left cold and dead in the night. "It sinks its claws into any bright and shining thing that it can find and _destroys _it." Still Bilbo had no words, and he stared mutely down at his lap until Smaug gave another sigh and swept out of the room.

Bilbo waited until he heard the faint clanking of pots and pans before he slowly uncurled his fist, a soft square of mossy green fabric unfolding in his palm, a golden sun eblazened in the center. Nestled safely in the sun's warm rays was his acorn, his token from that incredible day that felt like both a soft-hued dream and more real than anything he'd ever experienced.

His breath left him in a shuddering sigh and dropped down to lay flat on his back on the bed, eyes tracing the familiar murals that covered every inch of his walls as he rolled the acorn lightly in his fingers. Soon enough he stopped seeing the walls of his bedroom and instead saw cobblestone streets criss-crossed with the shadows of banners, shared pastries in secret archways, a worn old storybook that helped a sad little boy feel brave.

In the rolling poppy-dappled hills painted above his window he saw sunlight on clasped hands, green and gold soft on the fringes of his memory. In the csacading waterfall by his wardrobe he saw a family etched in glittering stones, a King and Queen smiling in a way they never would again, their child with eyes like an ocean and hair like a river of gold. In the stars twinkling across his ceiling he saw... he saw the sun, and another, spinning around him, above him, he saw... he saw walls, all around him, protecting him, hands reaching for him, and he wasn't afraid. He saw eyes the color of the sky in the spring, soft brown curls and a crown of gems and gold leaves-

He shot up, the acorn clenched so tight in his fist that he would fear it cracking open if he were himself. But he wasn't, he was someone new, someone impossible who he couldn't ever be, and it slammed into him like a sledgehammer, bursting inside his ribs and threatening to break him open. He stumbled off the bed and fell against his vanity, staring into the mirror at the face of the little boy who was stolen away from his perfect life, smuggled from a castle in the sun and hidden inside a high tower all alone...

"I'm the Lost Prince..."

A ceramic bowl tipped off the desk and shattered at the impact of Bilbo's stumble, and Smaug called out from the kitchen. "Bilbo? What was that, is everything alright?"

"I'm the Lost Prince!" It was louder now, his shocked confession growing into a confident sort of power. He walked out of his bedroom with steel in his spine and fire in his eyes, every question he's ever had being answered by his past, every fleeting feeling of not belonging, of being different, validated in perfect clarity. This was not his life and this was not his tower.

That was not his father.

He rounded the hall and met Smaug halfway, who was wiping his hands on a dishtowel and looking at him with a fatherly concern that put a sour taste in Bilbo's mouth.

"Dinner's almost ready, flower, what were you saying? I hope you haven't gone and broken something in there."

Bilbo's fists were clenched so tight they were shaking, his token still held tightly in one of them. His voice was like the calm before a storm. "I'm the Lost Prince. Aren't I, _father? _Or should I even call you that?"

For a split second Smaug froze, calculating and imperceptable. "Bilbo do you _hear _yourself? All that running about, the sun must have gotten to your head!" He moved to touch a hand to Bilbo's forhead and he stepped away out of reach.

"No! My head is clearer than ever and empty of your _lies _for once in my life!"

Smaug's expression hardened, and his voice was low. "Everything I did, I did to protect you. You know what your hair can do, I was keeping you safe!"

"Keeping _it _safe, maybe! All this time, my _entire life _I've spent hiding up here from people who would use me for my hair, and I should've been hiding from _you!" _

Any last vestiges of warmth and caring in Smaug's expression fell away, leaving the sharp and wrinkled lines of a face locked in cold control. His eyes sparked with embers threatening to grow into a blaze that would burn down everything Bilbo'd ever known. "Where will you go? He won't be waiting for you."

"What.. What did you do to him?"

At that, Smaug _grinned. _"That criminal will be hanged for his crimes against the Crown."

Bilbo's breath caught cold in his throat. "No.."

Smaug stepped closer seizing the opportunity of Bilbo's grief. "Now now... Everything is as it should be, my flower..." He reached out a hand to stroke Bilbo's hair and gasped as Bilbo's hand shot out and gripped his wrist before he could make contact.

"No!"

"Bilbo-!"

"_No. _You were _wrong _about the world, and you were _wrong _about me!" He threw Smaug's hand away and stepped back, bracing himself for the surge of courage coursing through him, foreign and invigorating. "And I will _never _let you use my hair again!"

Smaug stumbled backwards, eyes wide, and braced himself on the wall, knocking down the hall mirror and shattering it into jagged shards that fell at their feet. Smaug clutched his wrist and let out a low growl at the spots and wrinkles that weren't there an hour ago. Bilbo turned to leave, and Smaug squinted his eyes in resignation, pretences dropped and appearing almost reptilian.

"You want me to be the bad guy? Fine. Now I'm the bad guy."


End file.
